


Colours of the Wind

by emocezi (orphan_account)



Category: Pocahontas (1995)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-30
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2017-11-04 14:06:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 29,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/394701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/emocezi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He hears the man before he sees him, crashing through the underbrush like a wounded bear.  Talking to himself and slowly turning to look at the trees.  It's obvious that he's lost.  More obvious that the colour of his skin is pale, his hair a strange unnatural shade of red that Kocoum has only seen in the ocher found by the cliffs on the riverbank</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Jeebus H Christ.
> 
> I was trying to fix one lousy thing and ended up deleting this entire fic. So bear with me as I re-add the entire fic.
> 
> *slams head into wall*

Pocahontas slips out from the village in the early hours of the morning, sneaking away to see the pale faced devil who was invading the land. Looking for the strange glowing yellow discs. She doesn't understand they thought such things would be buried in the dirt. But, she thinks, maybe if she can make them understand, they can share the land. The forest is vast enough for a hundred different tribes.

\--

Kocoum sighs and wonders when he became a baby sitter to Powhatan's daughter. She was beautiful, brave and strong willed. And a complete pain in his ass. He set out, intent on grabbing Pocahontas and returning back to the village. She's easy to track, her footprints set clearly in the earth, as if she'd wanted to be followed. It made him frown, because she knew better then that.

He hears the man before he sees him, crashing through the underbrush like a wounded bear. Talking to himself and slowly turning to look at the trees. It's obvious that he's lost. More obvious that the colour of his skin is pale, his hair a strange unnatural shade of red that Kocoum has only seen in the ocher found by the cliffs on the riverbank.

The warrior crouches in the shadow of a spruce, watches the man pass him, unaware of another human being not even five paces away. It's disgusting, the way they've shut themselves off from everything holy. He feels the tree against his palm, the dirt under his feet, the wind across his skin. All of them speaking to him, telling him that this one means no harm.

He can't argue with that, so instead of leaping out and striking, spilling the white mans blood into the dirt, he follows silently. Watching and waiting for a sign. The strange words fall on his ears, useless and harsh.

\--

“Where could he have gone? I just saw him.” Thomas sighs and slouches against a tree. This entire forest looks the exact same. Every tree identical to the next, and for a moment he feels frightened that he'll never get out of here. The hair on the back of his neck prickles like someone is watching him and he whirls around.

Nothing.

Just his imagination. He stops, tries to get his heart to stop racing. But the feeling persists. Something is out there, watching him. He doesn't know how he knows. But at this moment in time it's like something changes, even the air feels different. Charged.

“Hello? Is someone out there?” Thomas' voice wavers and he clears his throat. “John? John, this isn't funny.”

Nothing. Not even the air stirs.

Thomas takes a step backwards. He never should have come out here alone. He could be back at the camp right now, still huddled on his cot under his blanket. But the Governor wanted to see John, talk to him about the savages they'd shot earlier in the week, and Thomas had been the one sent to find him.

Thomas figured John had gone off to see the native girl he'd been introduced to a few days prior. Pocahontas or something like that. Strange name, though it suited her. It seemed untamed, wild even. The feeling of someone watching him increased and he turned in a slow circle. He didn't even have a gun for Christ sakes.

What if it was some sort of wild animal? Or worse. One of the Savages they kept hearing about. Ben Lipton told stories of men who were taken from work camps on raids, throats slit and hair shaved off. He called it scalping. It sounded like a terrible way to die.

–

Kocoum stays motionless in the shadows, barely breathing. The man whirls around and seems to look right at him. But he showed no signs that he's seen Kocoum. Just calls out again in that strange language, voice wavering in fear like a child afraid of the dark.

Wind rustles through the grass, blowing through the leaves on the trees. Telling him to bring this one back alive. Kocoum listens. Bad things happen when one ignores the spirits. He waits until the pale face has turned, looking into the dark parts of the forest opposite him.

He stands, moving swiftly and silently until he's behind the white man. One strong blow to the back of the head has the man crumpled to the ground and drooling on the dirt. He won't be out long, Kocoum didn't hit him that hard. But for a moment he worries that this pale creatures is as fragile as he looks.

Wind scrapes nailess fingers across his skin and he obeys. He drapes the man across his shoulders like a deer, though he weighs less then Kocoum would have imagined. He seems to be skin and bones, hardly any muscle on his skinny frame.

Kocoum takes a moment to curse the spirits for dumping this paleface in his path when he had other duties to attend to. But Pocahontas will return to the village, of that he's certain. For now he'll take the white man to Powhatan, let the Chieftain decide what to do with him.

–

Thomas comes to halfway back to the village. He's woozy and it takes him a moment to realize that he's being carried through the forest. He catches a glimpse of black hair cut into the strangest, most terrifying style he's ever seen, and a face that seems carved from granite.

Thomas stays silent and wonders if anyone will even notice he's missing until John comes back to the work camp. Ben Lipton constantly talks about these people, how savage they are, exploiting any sign of weakness from their enemies.

Thomas prays that his death will be fast, and that they'll tell his young wife back home that he died a hero.

–

“Why did you bring this pale face to me?” Powhatan asks, looking down at the boy kneeling in front of him. “Did the spirits tell you to bring him?” Kocoum remains silent, he hates admitting that he can hear the spirits as clearly as any shaman. His silence is an answer in its self and Powhatan turns to the woman at his side. She looks as ancient as the earth, though she is anything but fragile and Kocoum can remember having his ear twisted many times by her in his youth “What can you see?”

Alawa crouches and unfolds a piece of deer hide, worn soft over time. She dips her hand into a pouch on her hip, coming out with a handful of smooth river rocks. She tosses them gently onto the deer hide and puffs at her pipe for a few moments. She looks up at Kocoum, face solemn, amusement dancing in her eyes.

“Wind favors him.” Alawa remarks casually and Powhatan glances down at her, both aware that wind also favors Kocoum. “He is a rare one. A two-spirit tied to another, denying what he knows is truth.” Kocoum stayed silent, pondering at the words that made little sense to him. “His journey is a long one, for both him and the one he is tied to. It will not be easy, but it will bring favor and prosperity to us all.”

“The fates have spoken.” Powhatan says softly. “He cannot go back.”

“It would be easy enough to-” Kocoum is cut off by Powhatan, who's tone of voice leaves no room for argument.

“He knows where this village is. He stays here. You have brought him here, a thoughtless action that could have cost many lives. He is your responsibility from this day on. Teach him our ways, show him to respect the earth. How to speak in our tongue.”

Kocoum gives a tight nod and dragged the pale face to his feet. He would hold his tongue, for fear of saying something he would regret.

“You should feed the boy.” Alawa says, teeth clamped around her pipe. “He looks hardly more then skin and bones.” Kocoum grunts in what passes for agreement and pushes back the fur in front of the door. He shoves the pale face outside and heads for his sister's house, where he knows he'll find something cooking on the spit.

–

Thomas had been sure he was going to die when he'd been dragged into a small hut and shoved onto his knees. Sure he'd be held down and scalped, but there was only talking in a language he didn't understand.

The old woman stones on a scrap of deer hide, then smiled at him in a way that made him feel safe despite the surroundings. More talking. The older man sounded grave when he spoke, though amusement shone through his eyes.

He had no idea what was going on, and it wasn't until the savage that had knocked him out in the forest pulled him up from the floor that he started worrying again. Of course they wouldn't kill him in here, too private. They'd want to kill the white man in full view of the entire village. Hundreds of people jeering at him like the public executions back home.

Before he could say anything, attempt to plead for his life, he was dragged off. Pushed outside where he blinked into the sun. A moment passed and Thomas wondered if he should attempt to run. He glanced at the tree line, measuring the distance with his eyes. But before he could even turn himself in the right direction he was being shoved forward. A huge hand wrapping around his bicep and dragging him forward until he was pushed him down in front of a fire.

A woman sat across from him, turning a large piece of what looked like venison on a spit so it didn't burn. She looked up at the savage and then back at him, and Thomas imagined that this must be his wife. She was beautiful, in a wild way and he glanced away, embarrassed..

The dress she was wearing covered very little, and though he'd conceived a child with his wife, he could count on one hand the number of times he'd seen her naked in front of him. She smiled at him and cut off a large chunk of venison, handing it to him over the fire.

He looked down at the meat in his hands and then back up at the savage who rolled his eyes and mimed eating. Were they going to feed him before they killed him? His stomach growled loudly, reminding him that he'd had little more then hard tack and salted cod the night before.

The savage mimed eating again and Thomas took a bite. If they were going to kill him, he might as well go out with a full stomach.

–

Awenita smirked at Kocoum. The glower he shot her did little to quell her smirk. They'd been raised in the same home after her parents had been killed in a raid. Raised as siblings. Others in the village saw him as a warrior, one of the best hunters. She still saw him as the annoying ten year old that had pulled her hair and put snakes in her bed.

The pale man looked at her, then blushed and looked away. It was amusing to saw the least, more amusing when Kocoum had to show him that the meat in his hands was food. She could foresee a time of great teasing. Mocking her brother for suddenly becoming a mother hen for this strange pale man. She clucked at him.

“Hold your tongue.”

“The last time you told me to hold my tongue, I made you eat dirt.” Awenita smiled serenely and turned the venison on the spit so it didn't burn. “The boy looks terrified. He probably thinks you're fattening him up so we can cook him.” Kocoum glanced down at the man, who did indeed look frightened.

“He's fine.”

“Where did you find him?” Awenita raises an eyebrow at her brother who ignores her in favor of making sure the white man finishes the entire piece of venison. “Is this like the otter with the broken paw?” Kocoum glares at her and she grins. “It's good you're taking care of the pale face. I don't think he'd survive on his own. He's just skin and bones.”

–

“Awenita.” Thomas jerked, nearly dropping his venison. The woman was looking directly at him. He blinked at her and she repeated the word, patting her chest. It could have been any word, but he had a feeling she was trying to tell him her name.

 

“A-won-ita.” He repeated, trying to get the inflection down properly. She smiled and nodded, then pointed to the man looming over him.

“Kocoum.”

“...Ko-ko-um.” The man grunted and Thomas shifted away slightly. At least he had a name to go with the face now. Awenita pointed to Thomas. “Thomas.”

“To-mas.”

“Yes. That's very good.” He smiled, wondering how fast he could teach her to speak English. She seemed to be bright. He could teach her to become civilized. Like a proper English woman. It cheered him up to think of it, like a special project.

\--

“He seems smart. I wonder how fast we can teach him to speak properly.” Awenita said, still smiling at Thomas who smiled back

“He's not a dog you can teach to sit.” Kocoum snapped.

“No, he's a pale face. Less then a dog. But if I can teach a dog to sit, you can teach a pale face how to speak our language.” Awenita sliced a thick hunk of venison off the spit and handed it to her brother. “You might as well eat now. You won't have much time watching this one. He's quiet now, but I have a feeling he won't stay this way for long.” Already Thomas was looking at the tree line like he was getting ready to bolt.

–

The sun sinking beyond the tree line when Pocahontas stepped back into the village. Nakoma rushed to greet her, face lit up with an expression that the Chieftain’s daughter knew meant gossip. She hid a wince and hoped it wasn't anything to do with John. She'd been sneaking out of the village to meet with him for more then two week now, and she was more then a little surprised that no one had noticed yet.

“Where have you been?” Nakoma asks, gripping her arm tightly.

“I was with Grandmother Willow.” It's an excuse that very few people ask about. Alawa will give her the look that always make her flush, feeling like a child again. And Kocoum usually seems to know when she's lying. It's a little annoying to say the least. “What's happened?”

“Kocoum found a white man in the woods.” Pocahontas holds her breath, she'd only left John an hour ago, plenty of time for Kocoum to follow her even though she hadn't seen him all day. She had the feeling her father would have married her off to him years ago if he wasn't two-spirit. “He's in the village now.”

Pocahontas rushed off, leaving Nakoma standing alone. The girl rolled her eyes and set off after her friend. The white man was too skinny to be anything but funny to look at. But what did she know about such things, maybe Pocahontas liked skinny white men, it would explain a few things about where she went every afternoon.

–

“Thomas?” She knew that strange shade of ocher-red hair. She'd met the man before, he'd been with John out in the forest. Looking for the wild onions and tubers she'd shown John how to find before. Thomas had been polite and kind, easily flustered when she'd smiled at him.

“Pocahontas?” He blinked at her. “What are you doing here?”

“This is my village. What are you doing here?”

“I was looking for John. The Governor wanted to talk to him. I got lost, and then _he_ snuck up behind me and knocked me out. Next thing I knew I was here. I don't know what's happening. Is he going to kill me? Because if he is, can you ask him to make it quick.” Thomas points at Kocoum who's watching them talk with quickly narrowing eyes.

“You knocked him out?” She turns to Kocoum and nearly flinches at his expression. It's blank, which might be his default, but his eyes are darkly furious.

“Your father has charged me with your care. You've been leaving the village for two weeks and the lies about fishing and berry picking are getting old. I came across him in the forest.”

“So you dragged him back here?” If she can just get his attention away from her leaving the village, keep it on Thomas. “He's not a spy if that's what you're thinking.”

“He's a pale face.” It was the one belief Kocoum stood by, and though he would have been upset to hear it, it was the same belief he shared with John Smith. If the skin colour was different, the other person was an uncivilized savage. It had frustrated her, trying to get through to John that she wasn't ignorant.

That her people considered him to be the savage, uprooting trees and covering streams in dirt. Slaughtering animals, not to eat or for their furs, but simply to say they had killed them.. And all for what? Some strange golden disc that glowed like the sun? She felt the anger at him and his people rise up and pushed it back down. Anger wouldn't help Thomas.

“Of course they can be trusted. They're people, even if their skin is a pale.”

“They killed my warriors while we watched them kill the land. They aren't people. They're worse then animals.” Kocoum's voice was quiet, but she could hear the hatred in it. It worried her, for John's sake as well as Thomas'.

“And yet this one still lives.” Pocahontas lifted her chin in indignation, daring Kocoum to contradict her. To tell her he was only alive because of her father's disapproval.

“To kill him would be to anger wind.” That took her by surprise. It wasn't often Kocoum admitted that he could hear the spirits. He was one of the few males in the village that could hear them as strongly as she could. If wind was protecting Thomas, it meant he was guarded by the same spirits that favored Kocoum. They were matched, by forces stronger then even the strange metal rope John had shown her.

Goosebumps ran up her arms at the thought. She had wondered if she and John were matched, but none of her spirits said so. None besides Grandmother Willow even acknowledged his existence next to her.


	2. Chapter Two

That first night he’d been in the village Thomas had expected to be left outside, tied to a tree like an animal. So it was a great surprise when he’d been pushed into one of the small huts, though the surprise turned to shock mixed with a little fear when Kocoum stepped in after him and let the skin hanging over the doorway fall back into place. But when the savage grabbed at his shirt and tried to undress him, Thomas panicked, shoving Kocoum away as hard as he could and scrambling out of the hut as fast as he could.

It was only through luck that he’d managed to find Pocahontas, and she seemed alarmed to have him suddenly clinging to her, trying to keep the Native Princess between him and the savage who was glaring at him with an intense expression of dislike. 

“Thomas? What’s wrong?”

“He....I don’t want to share a tent with him.” Thomas kept his face hidden, glad for once that the Princess was just slightly taller then he was. 

“You must, he’s your-” She stopped, trying to find the word in the white man’s tongue. They didn’t seem to have the word for protector, and she knew that the word _master_ would have been the wrong inflection. John had explained to her that _master_ meant owning another human being, one with dark skin. It had horrified Pocahontas enough at the thought that she’d gone back to the village and ignored him for the rest of the afternoon.

“He tried to....undress me.” Thomas whispered, sounding scared and ashamed. After her conversation with John, about how his people treated the two-souled, she figured she understood what had put the shame in Thomas’ voice and sought to calm him. But first, she turned to Kocoum, wanting to know what was going through his mind. He was still glowering at the white man, barely hidden behind her.

“ _Why were you trying to undress Thomas?_ ”

“ _He was going to sleep with his clothing on.”_ ” It wasn’t taboo to sleep fully clothed, but out here, especially during the summer months, most people slept naked to keep themselves cool in the heat. And looking at Thomas’ clothing, made of strange, itchy fabric, Pocahontas decided she would have tried to make the man undress as well. 

Both his pants and shirt were covered in mud and dirt, and he’d only end up dirtying the skins that made up Kocoum’s bed. With a soft sigh Pocahontas turned, trying to explain to the pale man that Kocoum had been more concerned with the state of his bed rather then wanting to see the other man naked.

“Your clothes are messy. You would dirty the bed if you slept in them.”

“But..why was-”

“Kocoum is...you are his to watch over.”

“I’m his _slave_?” Thomas yelped and Pocahontas glared at him.

“We do not have that here. We do not own each other. We do not treat our people as objects.”

“But-”

“He brought you to the village. If you leave you will tell your people where we live and we will all be in danger. It has been decided by the Chief and the wise woman that you will stay among us and learn our ways, and Kocoum will be the one to teach you. Has no one told you this?”

“How could anyone tell me this? You’re the only one that speaks in a civilized tongue.” Pocahontas sighed and tried to explain to Thomas what she’d tried to explain to John.

“To my people, you are the savages. You come here and destroy our land, our forests. You kill everything you touch. We have no gold here.”

“What?”

“John showed me. The gold piece. There is nothing here that looks like the sun, except for maize.”

“But..” Pocahontas shook her head and turned back to Kocoum.

“ _You scared him._ ” 

“ _He is like a rabbit, running at every noise._ ”

“ _In his world, the two-souled are treated badly. It is shameful to him._ ” Kocoum’s eyes widened at that and he took a step forward before he stopped. “ _Explaining our ways to him now would only scare him more._ ” 

“ _At least tell him not to wear his clothing while he sleeps._ ”

“Thomas.” The pale man had seemed a little curious at the words they had spoken, and seemed to be mouthing some of them, attempting to pronounce one or two of the sounds. “You cannot wear those while you sleep. You will make the bed messy.”

“Do I have to share it with him?”

“Yes.” Pocahontas nodded firmly. “I will come back with you, to explain his words.” She gestured and Kocoum rolled his eyes and turned, heading back to his wigwam. As soon as he passed through the doorway he picked up one of his spare breechclothes and shoved it at Thomas who fumbled with the soft skin, his expression curious as to what it was.

“You wear it.” Pocahontas said after a few moments and Thomas turned to her, just as confused as before.

“How?”

“ _I think you need to show him how to put it on._ ” Kocoum sighed heavily and untied the belt on his wrap. He folded it over on it’s self and set it to the side before pointing at the breechcloth Thomas held and then to his own.

“I......I’m not wearing that.”

“ _He wants to stay in his own clothing._ ”

“ _Tell the paleface that if he stays in his own clothing I will cut them off of him. He will not defile my bed with dirt._ ” Pocahontas sighed and wondered what the spirits were thinking, binding two stubborn souls together.

“Kocoum is not asking if you would prefer to wear your own clothes. You must wear this.” 

“But-”

“No. You must wear this.” Thomas went still, and his pale cheeks started to flush red. “Thomas?”

“Fine. Just-” He paused for a second and the flush of his embarrassment traveled from his face down his neck, disappearing into the collar of his shirt. “Go outside.” 

Pocahontas nodded and motioned to Kocoum to go leave the wigwam. The warrior frowned at Thomas and crossed his arms. The attention focused on him made Thomas blush harder, and he stared down at his hands, clearly uncomfortable.

“ _Stop being an ass._ ” Pocahontas snapped, fed up with the entire situation. Kocoum glared at her, clearly not willing to back down. “ _I_ will _bring my father into this if necessary._ ” 

Rather then continue arguing, Kocoum picked up his wrap and secured it before leaving the hut. Pocahontas rolled her eyes and patted Thomas’ shoulder, following Kocoum outside to give Thomas his   
privacy. 

XxX XxX

A week passed and Thomas was still having a hard time adjusting to the new way of life that had been thrust upon him. Every day he met new people, the women seemed fascinated by him and the men seemed disgusted.

Back home, the very idea of two unrelated men living together was looked down upon and judging by the whispers and stares he received from the men, Thomas wouldn't be surprised if the sentiment was shared here. He hated leaving Kocoum's tent in the morning. Hated the way they watched him like he was worth less then the dogs they threw scraps to.

Everything Kocoum made him do seemed like it was picked out to purposely humiliate him. A few hours earlier the man had gone through a series of motions, showing him how to pick up firewood and deliver half to Awenita and half to the tent they now shared. His expression serious and unrelenting.

At first Thomas did his best to deliver wood to Awenita, wanted to show that he wasn't as useless as he'd been told he was. Everyone had told him at one time or another that he was useless, a waste of breath, it was why he'd joined Ratcliffe's crew. To prove himself to everyone who'd said he'd never amount to anything.

After a few hours of delivering wood he'd noticed people smiling at him oddly. And after he noticed the smiles he started noticing how it was only the children that were delivering wood. He felt foolish and stupid, felt like everyone was judging him for doing a job meant for children.

He'd hid in the tent for a few hours until Kocoum had stormed in, grabbed his arm and dragged him out to sit at Awenita's fire. After he'd been situated at the fire Kocoum had left with the group of braves that were always around him. A couple of them had sneered before they left which had only made Thomas feel worse.

Of course they hated him. Not only was he useless, he was corrupting their friend. From his few days in the village he'd already deduced that Kocoum was quite popular among his peers, not unlike John. But unlike John, who took pity on him and tried to teach him how to be a _real_ man, Kocoum treated him like the burden he was.

He stayed huddled at Awenita's fire pit for the rest of the afternoon, letting his misery wash over him in waves. Not even Awenita's gentle coaxing could bring him out of his mood. He wished he'd never left England, wished he'd never gone into the woods looking for John that night. Everything was a mess and he felt like finding the nearest cliff and hurling himself off of it.

XxX XxX

The sun was slowly sinking below the horizon when Kocoum came back into the village. The entire focus of the hunting trip was to see if any of the newly initiated men of the tribe were fit to be warriors. There had only been a few that he'd seen the potential in, the ones who kept careful watch of their surroundings and walked silently through the forest. All in all it had been a good day and he was pleased with the four younger boys he'd chosen to train.

He stopped by his tent to see if the paleface had gone back into hiding like a wounded bear, and was satisfied to find that he'd stayed by the fire where he'd been left. Kocoum would have preferred to let the paleface hide away from the members of the tribe in his tent but Alawa had cuffed him along his ear, telling him to bring the boy out and let him get to know the people that would be his soon enough.

His warriors trailed behind him, taunting him good naturedly about his new _friend_. Wondering if Kocoum was treating him decently or if the paleface would be better off with someone less serious.

When Kocoum arrived at Awenita's hearth he was surprised to find the paleface huddled up and looking withdrawn and upset. He'd shot a quick look at Awenita, wondering if she'd done or said something to upset the paleface. She shrugged and spoke quietly, telling him the boy had hid here the entire afternoon, his head buried in his arms. Nothing she did could bring him out of the spell that possessed him.

He'd seemed pleased enough when he'd been given the child's chore of collecting fire wood that morning, and though Kocoum hated the idea both Powhatan and Alawa had insisted that he be given some form of responsibility to show that he was making a place for himself here.

Hunting seemed out of the question, and Kocoum refused to let the paleface out of the village. Partly because he knew that both Powhatan and Alawa would be angered, but mostly because the spirits told him that if given the opportunity, the paleface would run, and in running would put the entire village in danger.

Rather then attempt the minefield of the language barrier that frustrated both of them, Kocoum grabbed Thomas' arm and pulled him to his feet, intent on shoving him back to the tent. The surprise he felt when the paleface pulled his arm out of Kocoum's grip didn't show on his face, but his frustration did. He grabbed for Thomas again, huffing out a breath in anger when the paleface stumbled back a step, glaring up at him.

“Don't be so serious. You're probably scaring him with your ugly face.” Ahanu taunted. The words meant nothing to the paleface, but the tone of Ahanu's voice make his green eyes flash with anger and his face flush. For a moment Kocoum can’t help but wonder what the paleface thinks is being said and then he goes to grab the boy again. This little show of defiance is wearing away his already thin patience.

Kocoum got a good grip on Thomas' arm and barely ducked out of the way when the boy took a clumsy swing at him. From the looks of it, he'd never been taught how to fight properly. Ahanu is jeering loudly, calling for the paleface to punch Kocoum in his smug face, and Thomas took another swing.

Kocoum didn’t have time for this and with a twist of his arm and a well aimed kick, he pinned Thomas in the dirt. The paleface fought harder against Kocoum’s superiour strength, shouting something over and over in his strange, harsh language. He looked frightened but determined, and for the first time Kocoum thought that maybe there was something more to the paleface then just savagery and annoying habits. He is brave, but foolish.

Awenita was on her feet instantly, yelling at Kocoum to let the boy up. Even Wind is furious, the spirit clawing cold fingers down his back and hissing in his ear. He ignored both distractions, glaring down at the paleface who'd stopped fighting and was glaring up at him with a fierce anger, his green eyes as fierce and sharp as flint.

Kocoum shoved Thomas' shoulder into the dirt hard, then got to his feet smoothly. He waited for the paleface to rise, wondering for a moment if the boy is going to attempt striking him again. It felt good to put him in his place and he keeps ignoring Wind's displeased hissing and the way the spirit wound its self around Thomas even though the white man is deaf to it’s words.

Kocoum moved to grab Thomas' arm again and stopped when Thomas shouted in his face. One of the few words he'd picked up in the last week.

“ _No_.” He spoke rapidly in his strange language after that, his hands moving in harsh, angry gestures. After a moment he stopped speaking, seeming to realize they can no more understand his words then he can theirs. His shoulders droop and the anger seems to drain out of him. Thomas rubbed his hands over his face and turned, moving in the direction of the tent he now shares with Kocoum.

“I think you made him angry.” Huritt said after a moment and Kocoum turned an angry glare in his direction. His warriors make excuses and leave to different areas of the village. Awenita isignoring him and probably will be for the next few days. Her silence drives him crazy and knew knows it, weilding it as a far more effective weapon then any sharp words she could deliver.

Kocoum huffed out an angry breath and started after the paleface. Wind scraping along his skin as he walks, willing to show forgiveness if he relents. The spirits seem strange in their ways, twisting and waving the threads of his fate until the life he thought he'd have is unrecognizable. They toy with him and the others that can hear them, and many times, such as now, it angers him.

He has his own wants and needs and it frustrates him when Wind expects him to drop everything to follow the spirits whims. But if he doesn't, if he stays stubborn and unrelenting Wind will make things harder for both of them.

XxX XxX

Thomas stripped quickly as soon as he entered the hut, changing into the breechcloth with little effort and crawled under the numerous skins on the pallet. He pulled the skins over his head and refused to move, even when the flap of the tent was pushed aside and Kocoum stomped in, the quiet huff of his breath signalling his own frustration and anger.

The brave didn’t speak, just pulled off his own moccasins and removed his wrap. He hung it off one of the birch branches that was built into the wigwam for the purpose of holding extra skins and stared at the unmoving lump under the skins. 

It was obvious from the scene that had taken place a few minutes earlier that the pale man wouldn’t understand him, even if he were to apologize. There is a lack of understanding and mutual disrespect on both their parts that isn’t just going to vanish, and it's going to take hard work on both their parts to resolve the issues that have built a wall between them.


	3. Chapter Three

After the first week it had become a bi-weekly tradition for Thomas to accompany Kocoum and the other braves down to the lake to bathe. For Thomas, the chance to bathe more then once a month felt extravagant and he made sure to take advantage of keeping himself clean, knowing that when winter hit, the chances of bathing almost daily would vanish.

At first Thomas had been shy, not wanting to undress in front of the group. But after the first couple times, he realized none of them were paying attention to his nudity. No one mocked his paleness or the freckles that dotted along his flesh in random swirls and patterns. No one pinched at his flanks, joking that they needed to fatten him up. And no one called him fire crotch.

It was a relief to not be the center of attention like he'd been at the fort. Every man Ratcliffe had brought on the expedition to the new world was bursting with muscles and body hair. Thomas couldn't grow hair on his face let alone his chest, and even when Ben had given Thomas some of his rations, he'd never been able to put on any extra body weight.

At first Thomas had hung back from the group when they walked to and from the lake, but after a couple of trips one of the braves, who had introduced himself as Ahanu, had started hanging back with him, at first to keep him company. And after that, he'd started teaching Thomas the language, starting out with a couple of words for what they saw on the path, and graduating on to complete sentences.

Two months had passed since Thomas had come to stay in the village and he was starting to adapt. His grasp of the language was expanding in leaps and bounds, and he was able to carry on a basic conversation, face scrunched up in concentration as he attempted to wrap his mouth around the foreign words and their pronunciations.

During the first few weeks he'd expected the company men he'd sailed with to figure out that he'd gone missing and send out a search party for him. But with every day that passed he had come to realize that they wouldn't risk a party for someone like him. He was useless in their eyes, couldn't handle a rifle, couldn't wield a shovel, couldn't even pan the rivers for gold hidden in the silt.

It had given him a couple of rough days after the first month, and it was about that time Ahanu had started talking to him, trying to make him feel less like a stranger. For that, Thomas would be forever grateful.

After Ahanu had started talking to him, the other braves seemed to come to the conclusion that Thomas wasn't as bad as they had all previously thought. They hadn't warmed up to him overnight, but over the next couple of weeks, a few more of them started hanging back when they walked to and from the lake, helping him with his accent and pronunciation of several words.

He was far from being fluent, but at least he could communicate how he was feeling far better then he'd been able to that first week. Not that he spent much time talking to Kocoum. The brave was only around him during the morning and night, when they shared his hut. Otherwise they both found things to occupy their time on opposite sides of the village.

Thomas had become fascinated with the village woman and their weaving. How they were able to take everything from tree bark to long blades of grass to weave baskets and mats large enough to sleep on. He'd stayed back watching them for a week until Awenita had called him over and started teaching him the basics. 

No one in the village, man or woman had seemed shocked that he wanted to learn something that would have been considered woman's work by the men of Virginia Company, instead they had warmed up to him, and he was picking up the language far faster while he sat and listened to them chatter on about their husbands and children, carefully struggling with the lumpy misshapen basket that was slowly forming in his lap.

XxX XxX

A few days passed before Thomas learned why the woman of the village were weaving their baskets into intricate works of art and colour. He kept hearing the same word coming up in conversation and finally got up enough courage to ask about it.

Awenita carefully explained that another tribe had arranged for a meeting with Alawa for a naming ceremony as several new babies had been born that spring and Alawa was the only shaman for three tribes. While the ceremony was going on, this tribe would be hosting the visiting tribe, and would offer the baskets, mats, and beautifully crafted leather skins as trade items for what the other tribe would be bringing with them.

Though there were other items being made that would be given exclusively as gifts to the parents of the newborns. Delicately carved wooden statues meant to guard the children from evil spirits and blankets woven from the finest cedar bark threads were among them.

It was a tradition that surprised Thomas. He'd come a long way from believing that every Indian was a savage, intent on killing everything that crossed his path, but he'd never expected such a rich and unique culture, one that was always surprising him with something new to learn.

XxX XxX

Two and a half months of sharing a bed had shown Thomas that Kocoum wasn’t as fierce as he looked in the light of day, and he woke up every morning wrapped in the brave’s arms. The only thing that had changed between the first night it had happened and the morning of the naming ceremony was that Thomas had no reservations about driving his elbow into Kocoum's stomach. Kocoum grunted, his grip loosened and he rolled over with a soft snore, leaving Thomas free to climb out of the skins that made up the bed..

When it had first happened Thomas written it off as a one time incident and kept it to himself when he'd managed to extract himself from Kocoum's arms. But it kept happening every single night, and Thomas had come to realize the brave was simply gravitating to any warm body that shared his bed.

Kocoum had never confronted Thomas about the sharp elbow to his midsection every morning, but Thomas figured the warrior knew why it kept happening. He also figured Kocoum was just to embarrassed to talk about it, which was fine with him. That was bound to be an awkward conversation that neither of them wanted to have.

The most Kocoum ever spoke to him in the morning was to grunt, or give him a chore to take care of. Something small like airing out the skins on the bed, or picking up firewood. And ever since Thomas had unwittingly shown that he could skin and dress small game faster then anyone else in the village, he was busy every night when the braves would bring home the days catch for the evening meal.

Today however, Kocoum had given him no instructions and simply left the hut, barely glancing at Thomas who was shrugging into the leggings and vest he'd started wearing the month before. It seemed simpler to wear the same sort of clothing the other members of the village wore, and they were certainly more comfortable then the clothes he'd brought with him from Europe.

He shook out the heavy bison skin that made up the bottom of the bed and left it to air out on the drying rack outside the hut before heading to the hearth where the women were working on their weaving. His first basket was almost done, and as ugly as it was, he was proud of it.

XxX XxX

Ahanu watched Thomas leave the tent he shared with Kocoum. He walked with far more self confidence then he’d had when Kocoum had first carried him in from the forest, like a war bride captured from a neighbouring village. His hair was growing from the odd style he’d first had and it was long enough to tie most of it back with a leather thong. And his skin was gaining enough colour to keep him from looking sickly.

Paired with the deer hide leggings and vest, the paleface was starting to look more and more like he belonged here in the village. And when ever he walked by Kocoum’s side, an occurrence that rarely happened, the two made a striking pair. 

The brave kept watching Thomas, having made up his mind weeks ago that the boy needed someone to watch over him, and if Kocoum was going to keep acting like he had a live coal up his butt, then Ahanu would take the job. He’d already been able to teach Thomas a quarter of the language, and was constantly being surprised at how fast the paleface picked up words, paroting them back to his teachers with surprising accuracy.

Ahanu waited until Thomas was seated amongst the women before he headed to meet with Kocoum and the other braves. Powhatan had wanted them all there when he met with the village chieftain, a subtle show of the strength his village held.

XxX XxX

“I need a Thomas.” Ahanu commented while he stood by Kocoum, waiting for the chieftain's to walk by on the way to the ceremony of peace. Kocoum glanced at him oddly but stayed silent. It was a good sign. “To air out my bed, and keep me warm at night, and skin my rabbits, and weave me baskets.” Kocoum snorted quietly and Ahanu pressed further. “Lend him to me.”

“No.”

“Why not. It’s not like he’s important to you.”

“He isn’t mine to lend.”

“He’d listen to you if you told him to go with me.” Kocoum snorted again, a little louder this time.

“He is stubborn.”

“That’s because he doesn’t like you. You’re a terrible husband.” Ahanu offhandedly commented, making sure the lacing on his spear was tight. “His hair is getting longer, it looks nice.” Kocoum stayed silent and Ahanu shuffled a little, wondering when this was going to end. “Seriously. I can’t wait to see it when it gets longer.”

“Shut up.” Ahanu smirked at the scowl that crossed Kocoum’s face.

XxX XxX

A shadow fell across Thomas and he glanced up, surprised when he didn’t see Kocoum’s face scowling down at him. Instead it was a new brave, one he’d never seen in the village before. It wasn’t hard to figure out he was from the visiting tribe. Thomas offered a small smile in greeting and turned his attention back to the basket. 

“You’re making it too tight.” Thomas froze at the words, his head snapping back up as he gaped at the brave who was leaning down to study the basket in his hands. “That’s why it’s lumpy.”

“You...you speak English?”

“Of course.” He paused, then held out his hand, grinning when Thomas took it. “I’m Samoset.”

“I’m Thomas.”

“It’s nice to meet you Thomas, would you mind if I sat beside you.” Thomas shook his head and ducked his head when Samoset sat beside him. He couldn’t help but sneak glances at the brave, wondering why he was sitting with the women instead of with the other men. “May I ask what you’re doing here in the village?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I have time to listen.” Samoset smiled, reaching out to adjust the way Thomas was holding his basket. The redhead blushed and stared down at his hands, trying not to look at the brave sitting beside him.

“I was out looking for my friend and someone snuck up behind me and hit me in the back of the head. And when I woke up I was being carried into the village, like an animal.” Thomas shrugged, missing the odd look on Samoset’s face at his words. “It took me a month before I realized they weren’t going to scalp me.”

“None of the tribes in this region practice scalping.” Samoset said slowly, as if speaking to a child. “It’s mostly the tribes that live on the plains, they take hair for trophies.”

“Oh.” Thomas blushed again, though this time from embarrassment. Samoset patted Thomas on the shoulder and went to rearrange his hands again. This time Thomas pulled his basket out of reach, his expression changing to one of stubbornness and indignation. “Stop it.”

“I’m just trying to help.” Samoset smiled and settled back down to watch Thomas.

“I don’t need help. I can do this myself.”

“Thomas?” The redhead looked up at Kitchi, one of the younger braves that shadowed Kocoum. He always had a smile for Thomas, and had spent the better part of an afternoon helping Thomas with his accent. “Are you okay? Should I get Kocoum?”

“Um..no Kitchi. That’s alright.” Thomas smiled at the young brave, ignoring Samoset next to him. Samoset waited until the young one had gone before he turned his attention back to Thomas.

“Is Kocoum the one who brought you here?”

“Uh...yes.”

“And do you share his tent?” Thomas couldn’t help the low flush of shame that crawled along his cheeks, nodding quietly. He kept his attention focused on his basket, nearly finished with it. “He must be like a buck in springtime.” 

“What...what do you mean?” Samoset made a motion with his hands that couldn’t be misconstrued as anything but sex and Thomas went red. His ears burned and he nearly dropped his basket, scrambling to his feet. Samoset watched him, an odd expression on his face.

“So he has not taken you yet?”

“What? _No_!” Thomas yelped, stumbling backwards a couple of steps. His back connected with a firm surface and he whirled to find Kocoum standing behind him, his eyes narrowed at the newcomer. Thomas swallowed and stepped to the side hiding behind Kocoum and using him as a shield against Samoset. It seemed Kitchi had decided that Kocoum was needed

“Why were you not at the gathering?” Kocoum asked the brave who cocked his head, a smirk on the corners of his mouth.

“I saw a timid mouse and wanted to say hello.” Thomas narrowed his eyes and scowled, just barely avoiding in crossing his arms. Ahanu came up behind him, Kitchi and Hassan following. They all wore the same expression of unwelcome discontent, directed at Samoset.

“Leave him alone.”

“Why? You leave him with the women to weave and gossip. He shares a tent with you, but you mock the spirits with your lack of intimacy. He would be happier with me, wouldn't you Thomas?” The last part was spoken in English, as if Samoset thought the gesture would change the redheads mind.

“I like it here.” Thomas said firmly in the new language he was making his own. Samoset didn't seem to notice ignoring the circle of women that were now openly glowering at him, and rose to his feet to stand toe-to-toe with Kocoum.

Rather then continue the conversation, Kocoum turned, pushing gently at Thomas’ shoulder and herding him towards the hut they shared. Kitchi and Ahanu followed while Hassan glared at Samoset for a few more moments and wandered off to harass his sister about a piece of leftover venison.

Samoset watched Thomas go, a scowl fixed on his face. He had to get the redhead out of the village or he wouldn't get paid.


	4. Chapter Four

_Three Weeks Earlier_

Samoset frowned, flexing his arms behind him and trying to see how far the rope tying his wrists together would stretch. Whoever had tied the knots had done an excellent job, and all he suceeded in doing was scraping his wrists raw on the course rope.

He'd made the mistake of talking to one of the palefaces in their own language, trying to show them that the two tribes weren't that different after all. Hopinng they could come to a peaceful accord and they would stop destroying the land, defiling everything sacred in their hunt for something that had never existed in the first plae.

Instead it brought him here, tied up in a tent with a strip of black, smelly cloth bound over his eyes, keeping him trapped and blind. Apparently they thought him a threat, it mollified him a little and he wondered if he could make himself seem deadlier in their eyes, terrify them enough to release him. These palefaces seemed terribly superstitious.

"Take his blindfold off." Samoset fought the wince when the cloth was torn from his face, taking a few strands of hair with it. A group of tall, burly men stood in front of him and Samoset wondered if these were to be his last moments. If he was about to be beaten to death by a group of pale devils who didn't like a _savage_ speaking in their own tongue then he would go to his death refusing to show fear.

"Boy, you are going to help us find something that was taken. And in return-" The man, tall and barrel chested with a head of flaming red hair that spread down his face as if his very cheeks were burning, paused for a moment as if thinking over the reward for Samoset's help. "We will give you a weapon. We've seen the way you've been looking at our guns. You'll get a rifle, with enough gun powder and amunition for twenty shots."

A rifle, the strange flaming sticks that could kill from many feet away. Deadlier and more accurate then even a bow or a sling. Samoset craved that power and he nodded before he could stop himself. He hadn't even asked what had been taken or how they intended for him to get it back.

"Good." Another man pushed up beside the first, his hair and facial hair black as a moonless night. "We've got reasons to believe your people kidnapped one of ours. Took 'em while he was out looking for someone. We need you to find 'em and bring 'em back for us. We'd go ourselves, but the last thing we need is to start a war. No matter what that idiot Ratcliffe thinks."

"What does he look like?" Samoset asked carefully, needing to know everything about this person if he was to bring him back to claim his prize.

"Well he's a little shorter then Jim here, his hair's more red then Lon's is, and he's skinny as a newborn colt. But he's a good lad." The black haired man scratched at the back of his neck and shuffled his feet awkwardly and Lon, the redhead, patted his shoulder.

"He's a good lad." The sentiment was echoed by the men that stood in the tent and Samoset inwardly cursed. If it was just about bringing back a man it would be no problem at all, but this man was clearly coveted and failure to bring him home would no doubt end in death. The pale faces were known for their savage ways when dealing with the enemy.

XxX XxX

_Present_

Thomas peered outside, hoping today wouldn't be a repeat of the last few and he could wander the village without Samoset popping up and offering to show him something _in the forest_. 

The naming ceremony had ended, and the neighbouring village had left three days prior, but Samoset had decided to stay behind. He'd given the excuse of wanting a change, and the elders had granted his request and several braves had even helped him construct a hut.

It felt like a betrayel, not that Thomas could explain it to anyone without sounding like a fool. He hated having to glance over his shoulder, feeling like a rabbit running from a wolf. Somedays he managed to stay a few steps ahead, and somedays he only escaped by hiding in the hut until Samoset got bored and went to bother someone else.

He had no idea what the other man found so fascinating about him, even with all the negative attention Thomas had given him. Refusing to speak to him, rebuffing his numerous gifts, even going so far as to ignore the rabbits and grouse Samoset left for him at the end of the day. He gave them to Awenita, figuring she'd have more use for them then he would.

Taking a breath Thomas stepped outside the hut, taking a moment to make sure the coast was clear before scurring to the weaving circle he was fast becoming a regular part of. If he missed a day someone would stop by Kocoum's hut to comment on his absense. Something that he'd never experienced, save for the small school house just outside of London where the teachers watched their pupils like hawks.

It wasn't that no one had cared for him before. But it was in this strange, little Indian village that he actually felt at home. Even more so then on the streets of London, or in the tiny village where he'd grown up. He'd always felt awkward and out of place, like there wasn't anything he could do or offer that could make even a hint of difference to anyone he knew.

The people here actually cared for him. They didn't pretend to be friendy, didn't call him names and make fun of him behind his back. Didn't poke at him and make him the butt of all their jokes.

And out of nowhere, a newcomer had entered the village and though Thomas knew he was probably being irrational, he felt like Samoset was trying to take everything away from him. Like Samoset was hunting him, watching him from behind the huts and across the firepits, just waiting for the perfect time to strike.

XxX XxX

Kocoum stood in the shadow of Awenita's wigwam, watching Samoset watching Thomas. He scowled thoughtfully, taking in every detail he could from the stranger.

The man wasn't interested in Thomas as a person. He seemed to treat the other man like a piece of property. Like the dark skinned people Pocahontas had told him about in John Smith's world. The owned ones.

It made Thomas twitchier then normal, and he'd grown quieter over the week that Samoset had been in the village, always glancing over his shoulder and refusing to speak when the other brave was in the vicinity. 

Kocoum had gotten used to the ochre-haired man staying behind him when something new happened in the village, but it made him angry to discover one day, that Thomas had taken to hiding behind him whenever Samoset made an appearence. 

At first he'd found it annoying, tripping over Thomas everywhere he turned, and it was Awenita who had pointed it out to him. That Thomas only stuck around when Samoset was stalking him like a mountian lion stalks a newly-born moose-calf.

The annoyance had turned to a confusing sort of anger at the thought of something making Thomas uncomfortable or afraid. 

He'd gotten more then used to having Thomas around him. The glares he'd give if Kocoum attempted to push him into doing something he didn't want to, the gentle smiles he'd give the children and dogs when they snuggled on his lap in the evening. And the newer, shy smiles he'd give when Kocoum shoved food at him, or wiped mud off his nose, or gave him a new piece of worked leather to practice his beadwork on, the shy smiles were the best, and Kocoum refused to admit that sometimes he wanted to return them.

There was no way he was letting some smug, half-wit take Thomas away when he'd finally gotten used to all his infuriating little habits.

So here he stood, watching Samoset watching Thomas and waiting for the brave to make a move so he could snap his arm like a twig and send him back to his home village. Empty-handed and shame faced.

Wind scraped along his spine and whispered approval in his ear. 

Samoset stepped into Thomas' path, grabbing his upper arm and pulling him into his hut, the fur flap falling to cover the door. 

XxX XxX

Thomas glared, rubbing his arm and pressing against the wall of the hut, staying as far away from Samoset as he could. He trusted the other man about as much as he trusted Govenor Ratcliffe, and he'd put his faith in a live rattler before he believed a word Rtcliffe had to say. The govenor's words carried more poison then a snake could inflict in ten bites.

"What do you want?" Thomas asked quietly, not wanting to start a fight if he could avoid one. Ahanu and Hassan had been teaching him to fight, but nine times out of ten he was still ending up flat on his back with his arm twisted up behind him. 

"I needed to talk to you. In private." Samoset smiled, a friendly expression that made shivers run up Thomas' spine. 

"I don't want to be anywhere private with you." Thomas snapped, edging towards the door. Samoset lunged forward, blocking the door and glaring at te red-head who scowled at him and settled back against the wall. 

He'd been coming back from Awenita's hut, going to his own to move all the bedding back inside and maybe take a nap. The braves were all out hunting and most of the women and children were out gathering and fishing. No one knew where he was, and the last place anyone would think to look was Samoset's tent, as most of the village knew how Thomas felt about the brave.

"Listen. Stop and listen for a moment. The men of your tribe sent me here to find you. A big one with black hair and a split in his teeth and another with hair almost as red as yours."

"....Ben....Ben and Lon sent you?"

"Yes. They know you were taken to the village, but they think you're being held captive. They sent me here to rescue you and take you back to your tribe."

"But....why now? I've been here for almost three months and I haven't heard a word from anyone. Pocahontas would have told me if the Virginia crew knew where I was. She would have told John Smith that I was safe."

"I don't care what Pocahontas tells her pale-face. You have to come back with me."

"I don't want to." Thomas glared, his fear replaced with a low, pulsing anger.

"I don't care. Meet me by the big oak tree tonight. I'll take you back."

"I can't leave the village. I don't want to leave the village."

"I will drag you back by your hair if need be, but you _will_ return to your own village." Samoset snarled, taking a step towards Thomas who stood his ground in a quiet show of stubborn courage.

"Why are you doing this? I want to stay, I like it here. I don't want to go back."

"Because if you don't go back, I don't get paid. And I will get paid." Samoset snapped, grabbing Thomas by the arm and squeezing until the smaller man winced. He'd have bruises, Samoset would make sure of it. "You'll go back if I have to knock you unconscious and drag you there. They want you alive, they never said anything about uninjured."

Thomas jolted back, putting as much distance inbetween Samoset and himself as he could, hating how helpless and afraid he felt. 

The men of his camp had hired Samoset to bring him home. Ben and Lon were looking for him, they were worried about him. They knew where he was and they wanted him back. 

But the thought of being back among the men of Virginia Camp, their brash ways and loud, obnoxious jokes was enough to make him feel ill. He liked it here, felt more at home amoung these quiet, copper-skinned natives then he ever had among his own _civilized_ people.

Samoset ignored his pitiful attempts at trying to free himself from the iron grip on his arm and pulled him towards the door. 

Thomas wondered who would come to help if he called for it. Would anyone care if they say Samoset dragging him out of the village. Or would they be relieved he was being taken away. 

Samoset shoved aside the door-flap and stopped. He took a step backwards and yanked Thomas in front of him, glaring at Kocoum who was watching the pair of them with an impassive scowl. Like he wasn't sure what to make of this development, Thomas in Samoset's tent, alone, in the middle of the day with half the tribe out of the village.

"I thought you were leading the hunt." Samoset said calmly, digging his fingers into the muscles of Thomas' arm in a warning to stay silent. 

Kocoum narrowed his eyes at the tiny action, his scowl turning fierce and he stepped into the hut, crowding up against Thomas and Samoset.

"Let him go." It wasn't often Kocoum spoke, Thomas had long since figured he liked to let his actions speak for him. 

"No. I'm taking him back to his village. I'm taking him back _tonight_."

"Thomas." Kocoum's piercing gaze was focussed on him now, and for a moment Thomas was afraid he was going to swoon like a woman. "Do you want to return?" Was he actually asking? Was Kocoum giving him choice?

"I.....no." Thomas said quietly, unable to look away. "I like it here." Kocoum nodded, letting out a small sound of approval, his attention snapping back to Samoset who was glaring, his hands still on Thomas' arms. The red-head could _feel_ the bruises starting to form and knew from experience that they'd be ugly and almost black.

"Take your hands off of him, or I will cut them off." Kocoum's voice was a soft rumble, it would have been pleasent to listen to in another situation.

"No. I'm taking him back. I'm-" Samoset's speech was cut short when Kocoum lunged for him, knocking his hands away from Thomas in a fierce slap and pushing Thomas behind him, keeping the red-head safely away from the other brave.

"You will leave this village tonight." Kocoum commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You are no longer welcome among us."

"I will leave tonight, but he comes with me." Samoset snapped, his jaw clenched. "He needs to go back to his own people. His own palefaced tribe. He doesn't belong here, not with you, not with me, not with any of us."

"He stays."

"NO!" Samoset screamed in rage, his face contorting with it. He _would_ take Thomas back to his own people. He'd deliver the paleface to his own people and get the rifle he craved. 

"Either you leave now or we will make you leave." Kocoum's voice was pitched low, his entire frame coiled tightly, waiting for Samoset to make the wrong move, to give him the opportunity to strike. "No one wants you here."

Samoset glared, like the anger in his eyes was sharp enough to harm Kocoum. He snarled out a wordless rage and shoved past Kocoum, shoulder checking Thomas with enough force to make the red-head stumble back a few steps.

Kocoum watched him go, then shifted to peer at Thomas who was looked grim and pale. "Are you..." He hated not knowing what to say. 

"I'm fine." Thomas shrunk back when Kocoum lifted a hand, intending to check for injury. Kocoum dropped his hand and nodded. "I've gotten worse then that at the Virginia Camp."

"Your people...beat you?"

"Well....no. Not out of spite I mean. They never meant anything bad by it. I know I don't have any use in this new land. But I was useless back home as well. It's just their way of showing affection." Kocoum frowned sharply and Thomas fell into silence, staring down at his feet. He had no illusions that Kocoum thought him weak and useless, and if he hadn't before, he definietly would after having to save Thomas from Samoset.

"That is not how you show affection."

"It's not everyone that shows it like that." Thomas muttered, shifting tentavily and waiting for Kocoum to leave first, like he always did. "It's just not right for men to be affectionate. It's unnatural."

"How is it not natural?"

"It's just...it's not how things happen for my people."

"Your people are wrong." Kocoum snapped suddenly, fury radiating from his entire body. "You are wrong." Thomas flinched back at the volume, the movement tiny, but to Kocoum it was as if Thomas had fled across the entire village.

Kocoum felt shame then, for everything he had subjected Thomas to over the last few months. The ochre-haired man had been terrified and alone, snatched from the woods and forced to assimilate and adapt. He was strong, stronger then Kocoum had ever given him credit for, and for all his strength and bravery, all he'd been given by his captor was misplaced hatred and cold loathing.

The brave stepped forward, ignoring the way Thomas took a small step back, putting space inbetween them in case Kocoum made a move to strike him. It filled him with anger, to think of Thomas of the ochre-hair being beaten by his own people. The ones who should have protected him and kept him safe. Instead they'd sent him out to look for Pocahontas' white man by himself, allowed him to be captured like a war-bride and sent no one to look for him.

He could understand why they had sent no one for Thomas. It would have been war between their peoples. However if the situation had been reversed and a member of the tribe had been taken, none of them would have rested until that member had been brought back to the village, or until they were all dead.

Kocoum looked at Thomas, watching him, taking in the small marks that had blossomed under the sun's gaze like small spots of paint on his skin. His eyes, their strange light colour, as if the rains had washed away the darkness in them, leaving only the colour of the sky behind. The small half-braid his hair was pulled back in, no doubt curtosey of one of the squaws in the weaving circle. Thomas would have no idea the style of his braid was more suited for a woman, but it suited him, the soft lines of the braid matching the gentle curves of his face.

He felt something small shift inside him, the anger at Thomas and his people slowly leaching out of his body and a small ember of affection taking it's place. It would take time for the ember to grow into the wildfire that seemed to have taken over Pocahontas and removed her cautiousness and normally good judgement. But it was there, a tiny thing that was ever growing into something that would one day be great.


	5. Chapter Five

Ben yawned, shifting his feet and wondering how soon he would be relieved by the next watch. Judging from the position of the moon he most likely still had about an hour. The torches on the walls of the small watch tower illuminated bits of the forest, highlighting the birch trees that grew here and there in between the pine and fir.

A movement caught his eye and he shifted his position, raising his rifle and taking aim, waiting for whatever was moving through the woods to show it's self. It was a one of the savages, but he looked familiar, and Ben realized it was the savage they'd hired the month before to find Thomas.

He frowned, lowering his weapon and climbed down from the watch tower to go wake up Lon and John Smith. They'd want to know why the savage was back without Thomas in tow. The kid was a sensitive topic among the men, and though they'd all harangued him while he'd been a member of the crew, they all missed his seemingly witless ways. 

Not to mention the kid made a mean rabbit stew.

XxX XxX

"Did you find him?" John asked, pacing the tent. They'd left the savage untied this time, pushing him into a chair and keeping their own bodies between him and the door. They didn't think the savage would be stupid enough to make a break for it, not after he'd taken the chance of coming back into the camp.

"Yes."

"And he's alive?" Ben asked quietly. "He's safe?"

"Yes."

"Then why didn't you bring him back?" Lon snapped, shoving his hair out of his face and wishing he'd brought his hair tie with him.

"He is being held under many men. They keep him watched."

"Those bloody savages. How many of them are there? What manner of torture are they subjecting him to? Why the hell would they take _Thomas_? The lad's a skinny little nobody." Lon erupted, pacing around the small tent beside John.

"They would have been better off taking John if they wanted any knowledge. No offense John." Ben added.

"None taken. How many men are guarding him?" John asked quietly.

"Many. Many tens." The savage looked nervous, his flesh gleamed in the firelight, sweat beading across his skin.

"They must think he's dangerous, to have so many savages guarding him." Ben commented softly, watching Lon and John pacing around the tent in tight, controlled circles.

"You know the location of the village?" Lon asked, his expression fierce. He looked as if he were barely holding himself from flying across the room and ripping apart the savage with his bare hands.

"I do. But I can't take you there."

"Why not?"

"They'll kill me."

"Don't worry about that boy-o." Lon snapped, his hands curling into fists. "You don't bring us to the village and I'll kill you."

"Lon, just be quiet for a minute." John stopped mid circuit, running his hands over his lips in thought. "I know someone who can help."

"Why didn't you say this before?" Ben asked, laying a hand on John's shoulder. The Captain had seemed to be hiding something since the first moment they'd set foot on the shores of the New World. But what had been anybody's guess.

"I couldn't. She trusts me."

"Oh aye, of _course_ it's a woman. A lady savage?" Lon sneered.

"Don't call her that. She's the Princess of her tribe. And she might not be a lady by our standards, but she's got a royal way about her."

Ben and Lon shared a look, wondering if they should trust their besotted Captain. He hadn't steered them wrong so far, but there was always a first time for everything. They were already on thin ice with the Commonwealth since that _unfortunate_ accident with Governor Ratcliffe. 

It had been a complete tragedy. The Governor had somehow managed to get himself directly in between one of the men and the deer he had been tracking for nearly a day What the Governor had been doing wandering around in the woods that late in the day had been anyone's guess.

"You should have told us about the woman John." Ben said quietly. "She could have helped the moment we knew Thomas was missing."

"I couldn't risk it. Ratcliffe had us shooting at shadows. He was too paranoid to have brought Pocahontas near the camp. He would have killed her for sure, or ransomed her off to England to gain himself a barony." Lon spat on the ground at the mention of the former leader of Virginia Camp.

"When can you speak to her?" Ben asked, wanting to get the situation resolved as quickly as possible. 

"I'll go tomorrow." 

"There isn't much else we can do tonight." Ben said after a moment of quiet, all three Englishmen pondering their predicament. "You should go now, before the rest of the camp awakes. They're still a bit twitchy around you people." 

"Yes. I shall go." Samoset nodded, waiting for John to hold back one of the tent flaps. He rushed from the tent and out into the forest. Wanting nothing more then to get back to his tribe. Even if he hadn't gotten paid with the rifle he'd been promised, he knew he'd just barely escaped with his life. 

The palefaces were brutal in their savagery. They didn't seem to understand the concept of mercy at all.

XxX XxX

"Pocahontas."

"Greetings John Smith." The princess smiled at him, just as beautiful and wild as the first day he'd seen her, shadowed by the mist of the waterfall.

"I need you to take me to Thomas."

"No." She frowned suddenly, backing away a few steps and rubbing a hand over her arm. "He is fine. He is safe. I've already assured you of this."

"I need to see it from my own eyes. Please. I'm worried about him. Everyone is worried about him. We want him to come back to the camp, it's where he belongs."

"No, John." Pocahontas frowned, hating that she'd been forced to choose between two palefaces, and knowing that the choice would always be Thomas. John was too ingrained in his people's ways, always believing himself to be right. He had no idea that Thomas had already been given the choice to return to the camp and be among his own people. "I cannot take you back to my village. It's not safe, for either of us."

"Then bring him to me." John snapped. Why couldn't Pocahontas understand the simple concept he was explaining. Was she really so ignorant to believe that Thomas wanted to stay trapped with her people. With a tribe of savages.

"Yes. I will bring him to see you. The day after tomorrow. We will meet in the clearing near Grandmother Willow when the sun is at it's peak. And please John, come alone."

"I can't promise that. I'll bring two men with me. Both friends of Thomas. We're worried about him."

"He is safe, John. He is well protected among my people. He is happy."

"How can he be happy? He's living with savages when he should be back with us. With civilized men."

"You would stand here and call my people savage? Call me a savage?"

"No. No. I didn't mean it like that. You're the most civilized one of your people, I'm sure of it."

"Yes, because you've met so many of my people." Pocahontas snapped, eyes flashing in anger and disgust. This paleface was so unlike Thomas it baffled her. How could that sweet gentle man have come from a people such as this. So ignorant and blind to everything around them. 

"Pocahontas, please."

"I will bring Thomas to see you, but he will not return with you when you leave."

"I think that's Thomas' choice to make." John sounded smug, so sure that Thomas would make the choice he assumed would be made. The choice to return back to the camp where his own people mocked him and beat him in savage displays of affection.

"Thomas has already made his choice when that cowardly dog Samoset attempted to drag him back to your camp. Why would you hire such a man? Why would you not just ask me?"

"Because every time I ask you, you tell me Thomas is fine. I need to see him, to make sure he's well and whole. How do I know none of your people have scalped him?"

"None of my people practice scalping. It is a practice held by the tribes that live on the plains to the west." Pocahontas spoke rigidly, her entire body tight with anger. "I will see you the day after tomorrow. Do not bring your rifles or we will not show ourselves to you again."

With that Pocahontas seemed to vanish into the forest, leaving John to call after her, searching frantically for his civilized savage Indian princess.

XxX XxX

"You understand right Thomas? The choice is yours alone to make. None of us will force you to go, or to stay." Pocahontas said quietly, watching the doubt and helpless fear play across Thomas' face.

"They'll make me go back."

"No, they won't. I already assured John that you would not be returning with them. They only want to make sure you are safe. That you aren't being scalped." Pocahontas said wryly, enjoying the subtle burst of humor on Thomas' face.

"I guess I can't say much huh. I was ignorant enough to believe the stories I heard as well."

"But your ignorance was brought on by fear. John's is brought on by his own stupidity. He believes he is the only one who is right. That his people are the only civilized people."

"That means a lot. To hear you say that." Thomas smiled, digging his bare toes into the dirt and watching the small group of children play in the clearing just beyond the communal fire. In a few hours they'd be snuggled up around him, begging to hear stories about the strange land he came from, where everything was made of rock and stone.

"If you don't wish to go, that would be preferable. I will admit that I am surprised by his ignorance in this matter. He called my people savages and said that you belonged back with your own civilized men." Thomas huffed out a breath in surprise and laid a hand on Pocahontas' arm in what little comfort he could offer.

"I'm sorry. Those words hurt, no matter how nicely he said them. He's an idiot."

"But a pretty one."

"It's too bad his brain never fully developed." Pocahontas chuckled and swatted Thomas' arm gently, then laid her head on his shoulder and wondered why Kocoum had met this wonderful man first. It didn't seem fair, as if the spirits were laughing at her. "I'll go. Just to talk though, nothing more."

"I'll speak to my father and Kocoum. Neither of them will be pleased, but they'll listen to me."

"Well, if they forbid it, at least that gets us both an easy way out of this." Thomas wrapped an arm around Pocahontas' shoulder and they sat beside the fire in a communal silence, waiting for the hunters to return with food for the evening meal.

XxX XxX

In the end, neither Powhatan nor Kocoum was pleased with the situation, but they listened to Pocahontas' pleas. Powhatan broke first, as was per the norm and agreed that Thomas be allowed to assure his former tribe that he was safe and unharmed.

Kocoum was steadily glaring at the back of Pocahontas' head, as he'd been doing since they'd left the village. It wasn't as if she hadn't known Kocoum would be accompanying them, but his anger at her actions was surprising. He seemed to think that she had put Thomas in danger by allowing his former tribe access to him.

The small group, composed of Pocahontas, Thomas, Kocoum, Ahanu and Hassan stopped just before the clearing. They had arrived early on purpose, wanting to make sure they were set up to offer protection in case anything happened.

Ahanu and Hassan nodded their support to Thomas and vanished into the forest. Kocoum laid his hand on Thomas' shoulder and squeezed once, then he to seemed to vanish into thin air, blending into the trees and shadows effortlessly until it was only Pocahontas and Thomas left.

It was strange, to be standing just beyond the clearing and listening to the loud sounds of whomever John had brought with him, stomping through the trees with all the grace of a workhorse. He wondered for a moment if he'd been this loud and ungainly when Kocoum had first come across him, and then decided he'd probably been worse.

His stealth had indeed improved with hunting lessons from the group of braves that routinely went out, but he'd never be good enough to join them. Not that it mattered to him. He was perfectly content to sit with the women and weave. It was just one more thing that had made him never want to leave.

If he ever let the men of Virginia Camp know that he not only enjoyed women's work, but excelled at it, being laughed out of camp would be the least of his worries. They'd most likely attempt to beat it out of him. And when they found out that he shared a bed with another man, a beating wouldn't be enough. 

He'd be dead.

Thomas took a careful breath, drawing as much courage to himself as he could. For a moment he swore he could feel warm fingers drag across his cheek in a comforting gesture, but it was just the wind. 

XxX XxX

John stared. He knew he was staring, he knew it was rude, he knew he should stop. But he couldn't. He knew Ben and Lon were staring as well, their mouths probably as wide as his own.

It was beyond strange to see Thomas like this. To see him wearing the clothes the savages wore. Trussed up in leathers and furs, his hair caught back in some delicate looking braid. His skin was far more tanned then it had ever been, and he was covered in so many freckles like someone had flecked him with a paintbrush.

He looked almost shy, though that was the normal. He stood at Pocahontas' side rather then hiding behind her as he would have done before he'd been kidnapped. 

"Thomas?" Lon asked almost tentatively, as if he couldn't believe his own eyes.

"Hi Lon."

"It's good to see you." Ben said after a few moments of trying to find his voice. "We've been wondering where you vanished off to."

"It's good to see you as well." Thomas offered a smile, his hands hanging limply by his sides.

"As you can see, he is unharmed and unscalped." Pocahontas' voice was like ice, her expression cold and closed off. Thomas fought a smile, knowing to laugh at the ignorance of his former companions was wrong. They couldn't help the propaganda they'd been fed on the journey over anymore then he'd been able to.

"Thomas?" John's voice held a note of disbelief with an undertone of horror. Thomas fought a wince and wondered if he could leave now. How long would need to stay before they saw that he was fine and healthy. "What are you wearing?"

"Clothes John. The rags I was wearing before weren't fit to wash a carriage with. The tribe was nice enough to dress me and feed me." Thomas snapped, hating how defensive he felt around the men he'd once considered both friends and teachers. He'd looked up to these men, marveled at their bravery and wisdom. But now, all he could see was their fear of anything different. Their ignorance at not wanting to see what lay before them.

It was as if they wore blinders, refusing to look at anything that would change their narrow worlds. They saw everything in black and white and shades of grey, unable to look at the world around them and see the colours that shone more brightly then even the beauty of stained glass cathedral windows back in England.

"I can bring you some new clothes if you want. Some proper ones." Thomas was sure he hadn't meant it the way it sounded. There was no way John had meant that he saw Thomas dressed as an uncivilized savage.

"I'm fine in these."

"Come over here lad and let me see you." Ben spoke after a few moments of awkward silence.

"Look, I don't want to be rude, but I only came here because Pocahontas asked me to. I know you'll never understand, but I'm happy living in the village. They're not the uncivilized savages you seem to think they are. They're people, just like us."

"They're not like us Thomas." John sounded frustrated, like he was upset Thomas hadn't rushed into his arms at the mere thought of being rescued. "Come back with us. Please. The entire camp is wondering how you are. I don't want to go back with just my word that you're fine."

"I'm sorry for disappointing you. But that's what you'll have to go back with. I'm not returning with you."

"Like hell you aren't." Lon snarled suddenly, stomping forward and freezing when three savages seemed to come out of the trees themselves. They were unarmed, but there was something about them that screamed danger. All three moved as one to stand in front of Thomas and the princess.

"Thomas. Why are you doing this? You belong with the civilized people, not these brutes."

"Open your eyes and stop letting your ignorance and hatred blind you. Right now, the only brutes I see are you." Thomas snapped, surprising the trio of Virginians. Thomas had never so much as raised his voice, even when the teasing was at it's worst. He was meek and quiet, not wanting to draw attention to himself.

"Thomas. Please." Ben took a hesitant step forward. "We're all worried about you. We're only concerned about your safety."

"If you were so concerned about my safety, why did it take you almost four months to talk to me?"

"We sent someone to look for you." Lon said helplessly, holding his hands out in supplication.

"I know you did." Thomas didn't seem appeased by the fact. "It was good to see you all. Be assured that I'm in good health and spirits. No harm has befallen me, aside from injuries brought on by my own clumsiness."

"Aye, you always did have two left feet." Lon said, offering a smile. Thomas returned it and Ben found himself smiling wider at the boy. He seemed fine, hearty and hale, with more meat on his bones then he'd had when he'd come over to the New World. Obviously the savages had been doing something right.

John scowled, then sighed and offered his own smile. A group this large wouldn't be hard to track, especially when they had Thomas with them. The boy was so clumsy and fool headed it was a wonder he hadn't wandered off a cliff looking for wildflowers.

"Goodbye then. I'll see you again one day. I'll make sure of it." Thomas said quietly, then turned and left the clearing. Pocahontas left next, and almost as one, the savages melted back into the trees and were gone. No sound followed them except the call of birdsong and the hum of insects.

"We're following them right?" Lon asked, glancing back over his shoulder to check in with John. The Captain nodded and the trio headed for the opposite side of the clearing where the small group of savages had left from.

XxX XxX

They'd found nothing, even after an hour of looking. It was as if the group hadn't just vanished into the trees, but into thin air. There was nothing to even point out a trail. Not a stalk of broken grass or a twisted branch.

It had been a long, frustrating hour and finally they'd returned to the camp empty handed and angry. Not able to understand why Thomas would refuse rescue, would refuse the chance to come back to civilization and the men that knew him best.

XxX XxX

Thomas was silent the entire walk back to the village. The small group tracked and backtracked their way around the forest, leaving many false trails in case the palefaces decided to follow them. There was no way they could chance having the white men stumble upon the village.

The trip home took a few hours longer then the trip out to the clearing, but it allowed Ahanu to bring down a couple of pheasants with his sling. It wouldn't be enough to feed the entire village, but there was still half an elk left from one of the hunts last week.

Ahanu had presented the pheasants to Thomas with a grin and a quick kiss to the cheek. It was something the brave had been doing since the day Samoset had been forced from the village, and it always brought the same results. Thomas would scowl and rub at his cheek fiercely, cursing at Ahanu in the strange language of the whitemen. Pocahontas would laugh and refuse to translate what Thomas had said, and Kocoum would wait until they were alone to extract his revenge.

Usually a wresting match out in the forest where he'd pin Ahanu to the ground and refuse to let him up until defeat had been admitted, loudly and in front of the rest of the hunting party.

No one liked to see Thomas quiet and subdued. They'd gotten used to his bright smiles and the way he still fumbled with his words and mispronounced things. He was fast becoming a member of the tribe, and it had been years since the tribe had had a two-spirit such as him. 

Kocoum didn't count of course. He was just too serious.

"Are you alright?" Hassan asked, coming up to walk beside Thomas. The ochre-haired man nodded, forcing a smile that didn't reach his eyes. 

"I'm fine Hassan. Just thinking."

"About what? You can tell us anything, you know that right?" Thomas blew out a breath and adjusted his grip on the pheasants. Kocoum had tried to take them after Ahanu had handed them over, and a small fight had taken place over who could carry the pheasants. Thomas had eventually won by simple ignoring Kocoum and continuing on the path back to the village, refusing to acknowledge his petty attempts at stealing the pheasants.

"I feel strange." Thomas admitted. "I thought I'd be more upset then I am."

"Why?"

"Because I feel like I belong more here then I ever have anywhere else before. Even among my own family I always felt like someone who didn't quite belong."

"Sometimes the place you come from is not your home." Kocoum spoke softly, staring straight ahead and refusing to look at Thomas. "Sometimes you have to travel a great distance to find your home."

Thomas sighed and nodded, still feeling miserable over the fact that he didn't feel miserable. He should feel torn in two for making the choice to leave behind Virginia Camp. But instead he felt lighter, knowing that no matter what happened, he'd made the choice to stay in the village.

It felt more like home to him then home ever had. 

He knew he should go back, throw himself at John's feet and beg for forgiveness. Beg to be sent back to England where he would live out the rest of his days with his wife. Miserable and pious, dedicating himself to finding money and a position of power. It was what his father had always wanted for him, what his family had strived to push him towards before the plague had taken them.

But he was here now. Safe and secure in a village full of the most civilized people Thomas had ever met. He didn't know why he'd ever thought of them as savages, why anyone could think of them as savages. They were brave and honorable and civilized. 

And if he were to be honest with himself, something he'd stopped after he'd agreed to marry Martha in an effort to appease his uncle. He liked waking up next to Kocoum, wrapped up in strong arms.

He knew it was wrong, that it was a sin worse then any other listed in the bible. Worse then adultery and coveting and even killing. Lying with a man as if he were a woman was the worst sin a man could commit. But God forgive him, he was willing to live in the fires of hell for a thousand years to chance one night of passion with Kocoum.

Kocoum had started warming up to him since he'd rescued Thomas from Samoset. And though it had only been a week since the incident, the changes in the brave had been huge. He smiled sometimes, actual smiles. And he talked more then his usual grunts and scowls. He'd even taken to touching Thomas, brushing their shoulders together when they walked. And just the other day he'd taken Thomas hand, gently twining their fingers together and squeezing once before he left the hut to prepare for his day.

Thomas glanced at Kocoum out of the corner of his eye, feeling a blush winging across his cheekbones and burning down his neck when he thought of the gentle touches. It reminded him of watching a herdsman tending to a skittish yearling, petting it in long smooth strokes until it fell quiet under his hands.

He knew his face was an undignified shade of red, something the villagers never stopped teasing him about, but for once, no one said anything. He was grateful for their silence, even as he knew they were giving him peace for the wrong reasons. He imagined they thought he was more upset then he was letting on.

Thomas adjusted his grip on the pheasants again and took a careful breath, willing the blush to recede. He would let his new friends think what they would. His thoughts were his own after all, and he didn't intend on sharing them.


	6. Chapter Six

Thomas barely breathed, moving quietly through the forest. He moved the way Ahanu had shown him, heel first, the rest of his foot following in a near-silent tread. His heart was pounding in his ears so loudly he could barely hear the wind rustling through the underbrush.

All at once the forest receded and he stood in front of a large willow tree that sat half on land and half in the water. It's long vine-like leaves trailed in the water, and Thomas found himself pulling off his moccassins and stepping into the water. He waded out until the water hit his knees and pulled himself up onto the flat stump that stood just above water level.

The vine-like leaves that had seemed parted when he'd stumbled across the willow tree slid back into place with a whisper in the air and a ripple in the water. Everything seemed to slow and Thomas felt at peace for what seemed like the first time in years.

There was a gnarled knot on the tree that looked like the face of an old woman, wrinkled and wisened with age. Thomas sat and stared up at the face in the tree, wondering why he was here, how he'd found this place.

The faint sound of a flute floated through the air, and all at once the face in the tree came to life. Thomas smiled up at it, unafraid, as if he known all along this could happen.

"Hello young man." The tree smiled back at him, vine-like leaves caressing over his shoulders and flicking at his cheeks playfully. "I've been waiting for you."

"Waiting for me? Why? I'm no one important."

"Oh child. You will change the minds of the people the way the spring floods change the course of the river."

"But...how?"

"Listen for us. We are all around you." The tree closed her eyes and Thomas followed suite, fillling his lungs with the sweet air that differed so mcuh from the smog filled streets of London. 

The wind rustled through the leaves, water flowed into the pond from a small stream, even the dirt made soft noises, being lifted and moved by the creatures that lived in it's depths.

"We are with you always. Just as you are with us. Listen for us child, when you need our help, listen for us and we will lift you up. Listen with your heart and you will always hear us when you need us."

"Wait. Who are you? What are you?" All at once Thomas found himself back in the forest, alone in the place he'd been when Kocoum had found him. The sky was black with roiling storm clouds and lightening crackled across the sky, thunder following behind it in a menacing crash. "Hello? Please. Don't leave me alone. Please." The first fat drops of rain began to fall and Thomas moved to stand beneath a large pine tree, trying to shelter himself from the storm.

Thunder crashed and he shut his eyes, bringing his hands up to cover his ears. A moment passed and then the forest was gone and his feet were tangled in ships roap while the storm raged on overhead. He stumbled backwards, hitting the rail and tumbling overboard.

He fell for what seemed like forever, his cries of terror torn away by the wind even before they left his mouth. The water struck his skin like a thousand razorblades, the cold cutting deep as he sunk into the depths of the ocean.

The knowledge rose up at once. No one was coming for him. No one cared enough to save him from this, not like John had once done. Forgetting his own well being to rescue a skinny, untalented nobody.

He held no place in Virginia camp or in the Tribe. He was adrift on the open sea, without a hope of rescue.

He was alone. 

The stubborn part of his brain sneered at his weakness. Insisted that he'd always been alone and this was nothing to fuss over like the child he'd once been. Alone in the world, parents both long dead from the black plague. He shuddered and kicked for the surface, refusing to give up without a fight after he'd come this far on his own. 

"Thomas." He knew that voice. "Thomas, Wake up."

XxX XxX

Kocoum smoothed a hand over Thomas' ochre-red hair as the man jerked awake. He was shaking and gasping for breath as if he'd been swimming in the lake. Both his skin and hair were drenched with sweat, adding to the illusion that he'd been soaked only a few moments before.

"It was a dream." Kocoum spoke softly, not wanting to spook Thomas. 

"I know." Thomas scrubbed his hands over his face and sat up, blankets and skins piling around his hips. "Sorry for waking you."

"Why are you sorry?"

"I didn't mean to disturb you. So I'm sorry."

"There's no reason to be sorry. Stop apologising." Kocoum frowned, then threw his arm over Thomas' chest and pushed him back down onto the furs, pulling him close and holding him tightly. It was the first time this particular move had been made when both men were fully awake and Thomas felt frozen, wondering what he was supposed to do.

Rather then release him like Thomas had assumed would happen after a few awkward moments, Kocoum half turned, sliding a leg inbetween Thomas' and tucked his head in the curve of Thomas' shoulder. 

"Go back to sleep." Kocoum mumbled against his shoulder and Thomas blew out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He shut his eyes and listened to Kocoum's deep, even breaths, waiiting for sleep to overtake him.

XxX XxX

Kocoum inched forward, readying his bow and steadfastly ignoring the way Ahanu was grinning lecherously at him from a few meters away in the underbrush. There was a small group of wild boar in the clearing just ahead and ay distractions could result in injury, death, or their evening meal escaping.

Hassan was on the other side of the clearing with Kitchi and Hurrit. The plan was to swoop in from all sides and leave the boars no where to run. Kitchi and Hurrit held a large net that had been taken from Virginia camp and had proven to be usefull when hunting game such as wild boar.

Hassan flashed his palm in the gloom of the underbrush, giving the signal to move and all at once the clearing exploded in a flurry of motion and sound. The net was thrown over three of the boars, effictevly trapping them. 

Hassan and Ahanu had gotten the same boar with seperate spears and were in the process of arguing who had struck first and who's kill this was. They sounded like children fighting over the last piece of bannock. Kocoum rolled his eyes and went to help Hurrit ad Kitchi with the three boars under the net. Two sows and a huge male with tusks sharper then obsidian skinning knives. 

Kitchi had thrown himself onto the net to prevent the boars from escaping and was nearly shaking with the excitement of his first hunt. With a successful hunt under his belt he was one step closer to manhood. Hurrit was waiting for Kocoum to help with the slaughter of the boars. A dangerous job for the most skilled of hunters.

A decision had apparently been made between Ahanu and Hassan about who's spear had struck their boar first, and they headed over to the net, readying spears and knives. 

Four boars in one hunting trip. It had been a good day.

"So tell us Kocoum, what did you do last night to have our Thomas looking like a bride after his wedding feast?" Ahanu said with a leer. The braves snickered as they worked, ignoring Kocoum's scowl. Kitchi seemed nervous about the teasing, but in time he'd learn that Kocoum was like a wild nut. Only hard on the outside.

"He looks happy. Whatever you're doing, keep it up." Hassan grunted as he worked, earning nods all around.

"Yeah. He's ours now." Hurrit chimed in.

"I like him." Kitchi spoke quietly. "He tells the best stories."

Kocoum grunted and went to cut saplings to make a sort of sleigh. It would make getting the boars back to the village much easier as they were far to heavy to carry. The smallest sow weighing in at just over a hundred pounds.

"Do you think they finally-" Ahanu wiggled his eyebrows and grinned at Kitchi's fierce blush.

"No." Hurrit shook his head. "Kocoum will wait until Thomas comes to him. The pale one is skittish, always running at the first hint of danger."

"He stands his ground." Hassan argued. "He's brave for a pale-face."

"He runs into his own mind." Hurrit explained patiently. "He stands physically, but he escapes into himself. His own people have beaten him down, made him afraid to speak his own thoughts." Hurrit leaned forward and whispered, keeping his voice low. "Pocahontas says they kill the two-spirits in their homeland. Beat them to death with clubs and fists. It's barbaric." 

"Why would they do that? How could they?" Kitchi looked at his fellow braves in horror at the thought of anyone doing harm to Thomas. "Those savages."

"Easy Kitchi." Ahanu laid a hand on his shoulder. "I don't think they're all like that. Those other two fellows, they didn't seem as narrow minded as the yellow-haired one."

"What does Thomas call him? Jo-han? Strange name." Hassan said with a grin. "Besides, he's ours now. We'll just have to show him that there's nothing wrong with the two-spirited. Even if Kocoum's way too serious." The trio snickered and went silent when Kocoum stepped out of the forest, watching them all with narrowed eyes that suggested he knew what they were discussing but didn't want to get into the drama of actually discussing it.

XxX XxX

Thomas was once again sitting in the weaving circle when the braves got back. Ahanu shared a look with Hassan, grinning at the look on concentration on his face as he struggled to keep the weave even and just loose enough to keep it from lumping up.

"Thomas, how are you?" Hassan asked, the duo kneeling on either side of Thomas. Awenita glared at both of them and then turned her back on them, ignoring the two braves and going back to talking to Nakoma about the proper way to weave a good fish basket. 

"Yes Thomas, how are you. You've improved so much in your weaving. It's beautiful." Ahanu reached out to stroke a finger across the basket and Thomas jerked it out of reach, his eyes narrowing.

"What do you guys want?"

"What do you mean?" Hassan all but purred, draping an arm around Thomas' shoulders. Thomas' eyes narrowed to slits and he opened his mouth as if to say something, then shut it again and went back to his weaving, ignoring the two biggest troublemakers in the village.

"We can't just want to spend time with our favourite pale-face?"

"Don't call him that. He's not like the other pale-faces." Hassan frowned. "Let's call him Miskwa."

"Yes. That's a good name for him."

"What is that?" Thomas asked suddenly. He'd never heard the word before and he was curious.

"It's the colour of your hair." Ahanu announced, sliding a hand over Thomas' braid, fingertips brushing against the pale skin of Thomas' neck. "Miskwa."

"Red?" Thomas frowned thoughtfully. 

"Red." Hassan said softly. "This is the name of the colour in your tongue?"

"Yes. Red. I'm a _red-head_."

"Red-head. This is a strange word Thomas." Thomas shrugged, not sure how to explain that their words had been strange to him when he'd first arrived.

"What does _red-head_ mean." Ahanu asked, cocking his head to the side, fingers still stroking Thomas' braid. The man's hair was unlike anything he'd ever felt before. It was nearly as soft as rabbit fur.

"It means the same thing as Miskwa. That I have red hair."

"Maybe we're calling you Miskwa because of how red you get out in the sun. Not because of your hair." Hassan said with a smirk, poking at the light sunburn Thomas had obtained after helping the children gather berries the day before.

"Go away." Thomas scowled. "Go kill something."

"We've already done that today. We've got nothing left to do Miskwa, but sit here and annoy you."

"Away with you. Yapping like crows. Leave the boy alone." Sakanon snapped, throwing a leftover piece of birchbark at Hassan. "Can't you see he's busy."

"Get lost and stop distracting him." Awenita added. "You're like wolf-pups that always have to be watched. Go bother someone else." At that the entire weaving circle started jeering and throwing insults at the two braves who stood and skulked away like young boys, embaressed at being caught with their hands full of honeycakes.

XxX XxX

"Is anyone here having trouble with a thief?" Thomas asked after Ahanu and Hassan had left to go bother someone else.

"Someone is stealing from you?" Sakanon asked, eyes narrowing in the direction the two troublemakers had gone in.

"No. No, not a person. It's a....I don't know the word. It looks like a dog with a ring tail."

"Racoon. It's a racoon." Awenita sighed, setting her finely woven blanket aside to pinch the bridge of her nose. "It's Pocahontas' damned racoon, though how she got the thing to follow her is a mystery to us all."

"He steals from everyone, Miskwa." Kanti spoke up from her place beside Aponi who nodded quietly, fingers flying over her basket. Thomas ducked his head to hide his smile, secretly pleased at the new nickname.

"Last week he tried to take the fish I had hanging outside my door. Ran off when he saw me coming. The best thing to do is to keep everything with you so that damn theif can't grab it. He almost made off with Powhatan's second best headdress, would have gotten away with it too if Kocoum hadn't caught him." Sakanon said with a frown. 

"He took the necklace my mother gave me for my wedding feast." Isi said quietly. "But Pocahontas got it back for me. Meeko means well."

"Meeko is a pain in the ass." Aponi said dryly. "Don't defend him. It's only a matter of time before he takes something from the wrong person and ends up being the liner of a nice pair of moccassins."

"We can give the tail to Powhaten. He needs a few more for his cape." Thomas muttered, smiling at the hoots and laughter that arose from the group.

"Just don't tell Pocahontas. That girl's been touched by the spirits. Did you know she says she can talk to the trees?" Sakanon shook her head, and all at once the conversation took a turn from Meeko the theif to his lady, the Princess who talked to the spirits.

Thomas sat in stunned silence, suddenly very afraid that his nightmare hadn't been just a silly thing to forget and ignore. If Pocahontas could talk to the trees, then maybe the willow tree that had talked to him in his dream wasn't just something that his mind had dreamed up after the raw sturgeon eggs he'd eaten the day before, as he'd first assumed.

He set his basket aside, marking his place with a twig and getting to his feet. His hands were shaking and he smiled at the group and excused himself, making up the excuse of having to see to something. 

At this time of day Pocahontas was probably at the lake with Nakoma, pretending to fish while they braided each other's hair with flowers and lazed the day away.

XxX XxX

He knew he was on the right track when he came across Meeko, trilling to himself as he stripped low lying raspberry bushes and stuffed the tart, ripe berries into his mouth as fast as physically possible.

Wherever Meeko was, the small colourful bird wasn't far off, and soon Thomas could hear the sounds of feminine laughter. He quickened his pace, near stumbling on a root and catching his footing just in time to keep himself from falling into a thicket of bramble bushes.

"Thomas, is that you?" Nakoma called and broke down into giggles at something Pocahontas said in a low voice. Probably something about how no one else in the village was as clumsy.

"Pocahontas, I need to talk to you." He knew he sounded out of breath, and his braid was messy from his rush through the forest. "Please, it's urgent."

"Did something happen?" Pocahontas was on her feet in an instant, helping Nakoma up almost absent mindedly. "Is my father alright? Is it John Smith? Has something happened to him?"

"No, no. Everything is fine. It's just...I had a dream the other night. I...can we talk alone?" He shot an apologetic glance to Nakoma who rewarded him with a warm smile and kiss on the cheek as she headed back towards the village.

"Is everything alright Thomas?"

"Sakanon says you talk to trees." Thomas winced at the look Pocahontas gave him. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it to sound like that. The dream I had. There was a willow tree-"

"You spoke to Grandmother Willow in a dream?" Pocahontas stepped forward and grabbed Thomas by the shoulders, squeezing until he winced. Her grip lessened almost immediatly and she took a step back, her face a mask of shock. "When did this happen? What did she say?"

"You mean....it's real?" His breath left him in a rush and Thomas found himself sitting on the forest floor, blood rushing in his ears and spots dancing in front of his eyes. 

"Thomas" Pocahontas' voice sounded far away. "Thomas breathe. You need to breathe."

"I don't know what's happening anymore." His voice broke, shaming him and he scrubbed his hands over his face, wiping away any tears his traterious eyes had produced. "She told me I had to bring peace to this land. I don't know how. I'm just one man. How am I supposed to do that?"

"The spirits never give us more then we can handle" Pocahontas said quietly, running a hand over Thomas' messy braid. "You should talk to Kocoum about this, he doesn't like to admit it, but he's talked to Grandmother Willow more then once." She paused then, weighing her words. "Would you like to meet her? Not today, it's too late for that. But tomorrow. We could go tomorrow. She's asked me about you, about the pale-face they call Miskwa."

"Is everyone calling me that?"

"It's a good name. It suits you." Pocahontas smiled again, helping Thomas to his feet but keeping hold of his hand when they started back to the village. He sighed and squeezed her hand and once again she wished Kocoum hadn't met Thomas first. 

He was a good man and she hoped the spirits knew what they were doing.


	7. Chapter Seven

"This won't stand." Joshua Pike shouted from where he stood on a stump surrounded by his fellow Virginians. "They took Thomas and they won't return him. We've let the Captain have his say. Now it's our turn. We'll bring the boy back and kill any savage that get in our way." The group of men that stood around him cheered, thrusting rifles and bayonets in the air in a show of solidarity.

The Captain was away, no doubt communing with his savage lady. The same savage lady who refused to let Thomas go free. They had little doubt that even though John didn't like her decision, he'd respect it to keep her from becoming angry with him. It was for this reason the men were fast losing respect for their Captain.

Even Ben and Lon were feeling the effects of John's infatuation. He never stuck around camp, helping with the many chores that needed to be done during the day. Instead he'd take off after breakfast had been served, using the excuse of tracking and hunting to get away from the camp.

He couldn't see that his new found romance with the savage was causing his men to seriously consider mutiny. They were ready to take back their comrade, the consequences of their actions be damned.

 

XxX XxX

Deep in the forest, where the sunlight barely reaches the ground and the shadows lay deep and dark, Captain John Smith walked. The sounds of the forest echoed in his ears, the hum of the biting insects that flew around him, the call of birdsong and the answering chitter of the squirrels and other small animals that lived in the trees.

The entire forest seemed so alive, even the wind whipped around him, stirring up leaves in whirlwinds of colour and whistling through the trees. 

But John heard none of it. He was blind and deaf to the wonder of the new land, seeing only rocks and dirt, hearing only the chatter of wild things. Even the wind was ignored, the swirling patterns of leaves stirred up in its wake were looked over with the civilized eyes of the Englishman.

He'd stumbled across what he'd thought to be a game trail, but among the tracks of elk and moose he'd found human footprints mixed in. He'd finally found what he'd been looking for. He'd been following the tracks for nearly an hour, knowing he was on the right path by the increase in footprints.

His plan was to find the village, and rather then run in alone, he'd go back to camp and bring a few men with him, infiltrate the camp in the dead of night and bring Thomas back with them. It never occurred to John to simply let Thomas live his life. In his mind, Thomas was his responsibility ever since he'd rescued the young man from the ocean. And just like on the ship, he was going to rescue the boy. It was his duty.

XxX XxX

"Back in England, talking to trees would get you a one way ticket to the asylum." Thomas said conversationally on the way back from his meeting with Grandmother Willow. Pocahontas cocked her head to the side, her curosity obvious. "The asylum. It's where people are sent when they're...." He struggled for the word, knowing even an explanation in English would be hard for her to understand. "When it's dangerous for them to be around other people."

"Who decides which people are dangerous?"

"There are men who decide these things." Thomas said quietly. "I never liked the practice of it. It always seemed so savage to me. The ways of the pale faces." He shook his head. "I never thought I'd ever think of my own people as savage."

"Do you still think of them as your people?" Pocahontas seemed sad and Thomas smiled at her.

"I'm a man of two worlds. I think I always will be. Even the Willow tree knows it."

"Grandmother Willow speaks in riddles. She's very confusing at times. But I don't think she meant that you were to belong to two tribes. It would be very hard for you to be of two peoples."

"Hard isn't a problem." Thomas said softly. "I've lived a difficult life, most of it being a lie. I've hid myself for so long that I've forgotten who I really am. But...." He stopped suddenly and blew out a breath, looking afraid suddenly. "Pocahontas. What's a two-spirit? I've heard the word being associated with both Kocoum and myself but no one will explain it to me."

"A two-spirit holds both a male and female spirit inside themselves."

"What does that mean?"

"What is the term John used. The...the men who share beds with other men?"

"And it's...okay?" Thomas could feel his eyes burning and wondered why it was that he seemed to be crying at the drop of a hat these days. 

"Of course it's okay. I know the pale demons that live in your land do terrible things to the men like you. They kill and torture them, John told me of this barbaric practice."

"Men like...do you mean to say that the entire village knows I'm-" He couldn't bring himself to say the word and his face burned with shame at the thought of going back to those knowing eyes and sly smiles. Suddenly it all made sense to him, the way the tribe would look at him when he'd leave Kocoum's hut in the morning. 

"Thomas, why won't you listen to me? There is nothing wrong with being a two-spirit."

"But. It's wrong. It's a terrible thing to be. It's dirty and horrible and I'm going to the pits of hell for even thinking of it."

"You're people are _wrong_." Pocahontas sounded so fierce that Thomas broke from his self-loathing to look at her. She stood tall and brave, the wind whipping around her body in a swirl of leaves. "You are wrong. Two-spirits are beautiful. They have beautiful souls and beautiful minds and beautiful hearts. They love and care and hunt and create and protect. You are beautiful Thomas. You are perfect and Kocoum is lucky to have you."

"I...I don't know what to say to that." He knew he sounded meek, like a child after being scolded.

"You don't need to say anything. Just accept the fact that we love you for who you are. All of us. And know this." She smiled then, almost shy. "Kocoum is waiting for you. He knows what your people think of us, of him, of the two-spirited and he's waiting for you to come to him. He cares for you a great deal. Don't disappoint him."

"But. He's so-" Pocahontas was expecting Thomas to say 'solemn' and he lips twitched. " -So brave and strong. He deserves someone better then me. I'm nobody. I'm worthless." Pocahontas narrowed her eyes, suddenly furious with the tribe of pale-faces who had made Thomas doubt himself so thoroughly.

"Kocoum wants you, but you need to make the first move. He thinks he will scare you if he comes to you first." Pocahontas stepped forward and poked a finger at Thomas' chest, startling him. "So man up and kiss your brave." Thomas' eyes went wide and for a moment she was afraid she'd pushed him too far, but his face went red and she knew he was thinking about it.

She smirked and they continued back to the village, Thomas bright red and silent beside her.

XxX XxX

John watched from the trees at the edge of the camp. All he'd seen so far was a group of women weaving baskets in the center of the camp. A few groups of children played around fire pits with what looked like wild dogs. But no sign of Thomas.

No, there he was. He was walking with Pocahontas and he looked upset. His face bright red and his expression solemn. Beside him, the princess looked smug, and John wondered what they'd been doing in the forest. Had they snuck out to be romantic? His eyes narrowed at the thought, of course, it was the only thing that made sense.

Pocahontas had cast a spell on the red-head to make him forget his people. It was probably the same spell she'd cast on him with her savage beauty, so unlike anything he'd ever seen.

They had to get him out of the camp before the witch princess stole his soul and corrupted him anymore. 

John turned away from the camp, his expression grim as he headed back the way he'd come. Now that he knew the location of the camp, it would be easy to gather a group of volunteers and bring Thomas home.

XxX XxX

Thomas was unusually quiet when the braves returned from the hunt, even when Kocoum strutted up like a particularly proud rooster to shove a fat hare in his hands. 

Thomas had seen the gesture before, Hurrit did it often, presenting his wife with presents in the form of her favourite tubers or iridescent snail shells, with the snails still inside them.

Except, this time it was Kocoum giving Thomas presents. And it was a shock to realize that this gift giving had been going on for nearly a week.

Thomas smiled, thanking Kocoum for the hare and preparing to skin it. He sucked in a breath when Kocoum sat beside him and shrugging when the brave looked at him strangely.

Kocoum always sat beside him at the end of the day while he skinned whatever kill had been brought back and got it ready for the fire. So why was he acting so damn jumpy, like a addlepated schoolboy with a crush. Except that was exactly how he felt, peeking glances at Kocoum and flushing when their eyes met.

He felt clumsy and stupid. He was pale and skinny with too many freckles and no useful talents. And yet, if what Pocahontas had told him was true, Kocoum _wanted_ him. _Him_. 

It made his skin flush cold and hot to think of spending a night beside Kocoum for something other than sleeping. To think of Kocoum's hands, big and spear-calloused, touching him like _that_. And he wanted it. Oh how he wanted it. 

But he was afraid. Even now, even after his talk with Pocahontas. He feared Kocoum's reaction. He feared the reaction from the rest of the village. And most of all, he feared the men of the camp. If they found out, if they caught even an inkling of the impure thoughts he had about Kocoum, they'd kill him.

Even through all the fear and doubt that plagued him. He knew, somehow, he knew it would be worth anything to have that. Even for just one night.

XxX XxX

John Smith arrived back at Virginia Camp just before nightfall. He didn't see the looks thrown his way, the sneers and contempt shown openly on the men's faces. He was blind to everything but the need to reclaim Thomas, the need to extract revenge on the savages who had taken the boy and brainwashed him into rejecting his own people. Thomas was theirs. Thomas was _his_

John strode into the tent that served as headquarters for the camp and drew his dagger, plunging it into the map that lay across the table. A group of seven men stared back at him, surprise on their features as they looked at the map and the knife sticking out of it.

It was an area they hadn't explored yet. The area blank and open, awaiting the careful brush of a cartographer to bring it to life.

"I found the camp of the savages. We move at dawn." The man in the middle of the group smiled suddenly and moved to clap John on the shoulder.

"Welcome back John. We thought for a moment we'd lost you to their witch."

XxX XxX

Thomas waited until the last of the food had either been eaten or put away in a basket for later. He felt shaky and lightheaded, his palms were sweaty and his entire body seemed to be jittering.

He walked beside Kocoum as they made their way from Awenita's hearth, where most of their meals were consumed, back to the hut they shared. 

Luckily Kocoum didn't seem to notice anything amiss about Thomas' nervousness and Thomas prayed to whatever god would listen that they'd make it back to the hut without any interruptions. He just wanted to get this over with, wanted to know if Kocoum felt the same way.

He didn't know how long his bravery would last out, and if Kocoum stopped to talk to anyone, Thomas just knew he'd lose the head of steam he'd built up and his plan would fail, lost to his own cowardness. 

Suddenly Thomas stopped. His heart was beating so hard he could hear it in his ears, he felt terrified and excited and sick. Kocoum had only taken a step before he'd noticed Thomas' absence at his side and turned to find out what was wrong. He moved closer and peered at Thomas, as if trying to diagnose what ailed him by sight alone.

"Thomas?"

"I'm fine." Oh god what was he thinking? "Just thinking." What was he _doing_? Oh godohgodohgodohgod. It was now or never.

Thomas stood on his tiptoes, leaned forward, eyes squeezed shut, and pressed his lips against Kocoum's. He stood there for a few seconds, no one moved, and suddenly he felt stupid and foolish and ashamed. Pocahontas had lied to him. She was probably laughing at him. They were all laughing at him for believing that stupid lie about two-spirits.

He moved to pull back, wanting nothing more then to flee the village and throw himself off the nearest cliff. Instead a hand crept up to cup his cheek and an arm circled around his waist to hold him steady.

Thomas' knees nearly buckled when Kocoum kissed him back. Softly at first, and then harder, more demanding. He couldn't stop the trembles that wracked his body, or the way his hands came up to clutch at Kocoum's arms and shoulders like the brave would vanish into thin air if he moved away.

Finally Kocoum pulled away, one big hand still cupping Thomas' cheek. He looked happy for once, instead of always so foreboding and serious. His warm brown eyes shining and the tiniest of smiles playing across his mouth.

"I...um..." Thomas started, feeling the strangest urge to apologize for the outburst in the middle of the damned village. He couldn't believe he'd just done that, pushed himself on the other man like a wanton wench.

"I've been waiting for you." Kocoum said quietly, eyes searching Thomas' face. The red-head felt himself start to blush at the look in the other man’s eyes and wondered how quickly they could make it back to the hut before the night descended into the sort of debauchery he'd only before imagined.

"Go Miskwa!" Ahanu cheered, and suddenly the quiet was broken by war-cries and catcalls from all over the village. Thomas flushed and ducked his head, then attempting to take a step back when he realized the near obscene stance they were in. And in public. His Englishman's pride wanted to curl up and die in shame, but the other part of him, the part that had started growing the moment he'd stepped foot on the land of this new world, didn't care that he'd just engaged in public indecency with another man.

Kocoum lifted Thomas' chin with a finger, ducking his own head for a quick kiss and then releasing his arm from around Thomas' waist. The red-head had no idea what he'd been expecting Kocoum to do, but it surprised him when Kocoum grabbed his hand and started pulling him back to the hut.

Thomas suddenly couldn't keep from smiling, he felt giddy, like a virgin on her wedding night. And it surprised him how little fear he had, how excited he felt. No matter what happened in the morning, this night would be worth it.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy GOD. That sucked so bad.
> 
> I was trying to fix one lousy thing and ended up accidently deleting the entire fic. Go me. *facewall*
> 
> Anyway, I just want to thank all the people who love this fic enough to actually leave reviews and not just press the kudo's button. YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE.
> 
> Also, a huge thanks to grimcognito for giving this a quick beta-read, kyuubi_paw for poking me with sticks when I needed it, and sarah_potter146 for reminding me that updates are important.

As much as the men of Virginia Camp want to rush into the newly discovered Indian village and rescue Thomas, a few of them have actually thought the idea through and realized a little more finesse and planning was needed to attempt a rescue mission.

Running into the woods with barely enough gunpowder and ammunition to hunt a pack of squirrels just wouldn’t cut it. And so rather then leave the morning after John Smith had discovered the village, they wait for a week. Plan their route into the village, and what they would do when they arrived.

At first they discuss which of the savages are the biggest threats, and after a few hours of talking, they decide that anyone that isn’t Thomas would be considered hostile. No matter how young or old, male or female. Every savage in the village is a danger to both themselves and the man they were rescuing.

It’s the morning of the fifth day when they pack up their guns and gear and head into the woods, determined and grim and fierce. Today is the day they would bring back Thomas, even if it would mean the slaughter of every man, woman and child.

XxX XxX

John seem as grim as the rest of them. Before, he would have been cracking jokes and lightening the atmosphere, but now he marches alongside his men, filled with the same angry intent.

He refuses to believe what Thomas had told him a few weeks before. That he’s happy living like an animal. Wallowing in the mud, wearing the skins and leathers of an uncultured people who are happiest rolling in the dirt and talking to imaginary spirits.

That isn’t the Thomas he knows. That isn’t his Thomas. John can’t help the fierce scowl that sweeps across his face at the memory of the younger man he’d rescued from the storm and the ocean. The one who’d watched him with a mixture of hero worship and envy. That is the Thomas he remembers, the quiet, shy, clumsy Thomas who gets in everyone’s way even when he tries to stay off to the side.

Joshua claps a hand on his shoulder, his own face a mirror of John’s. The blonde Captain glances around at the men who walk alongside him and saw their expressions seem to match his own thoughts.

The boy seems to be more trouble then he is worth. But he is theirs, and that’s all that matters. The savages didn’t have the slightest clue of the storm headed their way.

XxX XxX

Thomas shivers, curling into the warm spot Kocoum had just occupied and wrapping the blankets closer to himself. He feels strange, no, that’s wrong. The air feels strange, the way it does before a storm. Too quiet and too calm.

He takes a breath and listens, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to calm his heartbeat. He waits, his ears straining to hear something, anything.

_they are coming._

“Who’s coming?”

_stand tall windchild. the storm approaches._

All at once Thomas sits up, his heart beating loudly in his ears. He’s afraid, the fear petrifying him, freezing the very blood in his veins. He doesn’t want to move, wants to curl back on the bed and pull the bison fur up over his head. Ignore whatever’s about to happen and pretend it’s all a horrible dream.

Instead he moves, his hands shaking as he pulled on his leggings, foregoing the vest he habitually wears. He needs to get to the trees, already knowing what’s about to happen as if he’d dreamt it the night before.

_we are with you windchild. stand strong._

He takes a moment to let the fear run through him, shuddering against it even as a warm puff of wind brushes over his cheek. A week before he’d have dismissed it as nothing, a figment of his imagination maybe. But that was before he’d had a conversation with a willow tree and started hearing the soft voices of the things that lived around him.

A soft breeze shoves against his bare back and he takes a step forward, then another, and soon he is running, racing to the edge of the village and praying with every step that he wouldn’t be too late to stop the awful thing. He can feel it in his bones, the black hate of the pale faces. Feel their ignorant contempt scraping across his skin until he’s almost burning from it.

Only a few people are up this early, and they call out greetings as he runs, one or two offering to share a morning meal with Miskwa. But he can’t stop, won’t stop. Everything depends on him.

He feels wind racing next to him, spurring him on faster, pushing at his back and tugging his braid apart. Finally he stands just outside the village, in the shade of the trees that stand in a circle; giant watchers of the forest.

Alawa steps up next to him, worry in her eyes and acceptance in her heart.

“There’s a storm coming windchild.” She speaks softly, her gnarled fingers clutching the carved oak walking stick.

“I know.” Thomas feels himself shiver and wonders for a moment if he’s going to be sick. “How do I stop it?”

“You cannot stop a storm.” Alawa places a hand on his back, her fingers cold against his skin. “You can only wait it out.”

“The willow...” Thomas stops and makes himself go on, knowing Alawa won’t judge him for his words. “Grandmother Willow told me I have the power to change the minds of men.”

“Sometimes Miskwa, the spirits guide us on the paths they think are right. Sometimes they give us too much.”

“I don’t-I don’t know what to do.” Alawa smiles and pats his back.

“Yes you do. You’ve always known.” Thomas takes a breath, squeezing his eyes shut and feeling the wind die down until the air is calm and still.

_peace, windchild. i am with you_

“That doesn’t help me right now.” Thomas mutters, ignoring Alawa’s knowing glance.

_we are all with you._

The first sounds of the pale-faces could be heard through the forest. Their heavy footsteps marching in tandem echoed through the still morning air. Thomas can’t stop from trembling, wondering how to quell the mob and make them return to Virginia camp. What can he say to them? What can he do to make them see that this isn’t the way, that this is wrong?

Is he supposed to forsake the people he’s taken as his own, is he supposed to give up the happiness he’s found here, the love? Is this the path the spirits have chosen for him to walk? It seems unfair and cruel to give him everything he’s ever dreamed of finding and then rip it all away. But when has his life ever resembled anything easy?

Thomas draws in a careful breath and takes a step forward, holding out a hand when Alawa makes to follow him.

“Stay here. I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to you because of me.” The shaman nods, her knuckles going white on her walking stick as she watches Thomas walk away from her, slowly fading in the shadows of the forest.

XxX XxX

It’s a shock to see Thomas standing in the middle of the game path, wearing only a pair of deerskin breeches and a mulish, stubborn scowl. His hair reaches past his shoulders, and most of it has fallen out of the messy braid he obviously slept in.

He looks upset and afraid, and for a moment John wants to go to him and tell him everything will be alright if he lets them do what they came here to do. But then he remembers that Thomas is on _their_ side and the anger rises up again, a black, choking anger that blinds him for a heartbeat.

“Move aside lad.” Joshua speaks, and there’s a rumble that slides through the other men. They stare at the red-head they came here to rescue. Obviously expecting him to look more beaten down and starved, more like a captive and less like a member of the tribe. A few of them cast curious glances at John, wondering why he wouldn’t tell them that Thomas was well and fine and in good health.

“No.” Thomas was never known for his stubborn nature, but it seems his time with the savages have taught him bad manners.

“Thomas, we’re doing you a favour.” Kit, one of them men closer in age to Thomas speaks up, making his way from the back of the group to the front. If anyone can get through to Thomas, it’ll be Kit. They were almost friends once, before this whole mess started.

“I already told John I wasn’t coming back.” Thomas says quietly and the murmur of discontent rumbles through the men again. “What use is it to start a war over someone like me?”

“You were ours first.” Ben says, tightening his grip on the axe he brought with him.

“Don’t be a fool lad, step aside and let us do what we came here to do. You’re not one of them.” Joshua says, scowling at Thomas. John lets the other man take the lead, not trusting himself around the red-head.

“If you want to kill these people, you’ll have to kill me first.” Thomas says, as fierce as any warrior. “I _am_ one of them. I _choose_ to be one of them.” He stands there, holding his arms open, unarmed and defenceless a child.

“ _Why_ would you _choose_ to be a savage?” John snarls suddenly. It brings back the attention of the men, many whom had been shuffling awkwardly in place, refusing to look at Thomas, ashamed of their actions. They start looking angry at the thought of Thomas refusing their help. It’s obvious he wants to stay here and play in the dirt like the animals he’s been living with. And it’s more obvious that the men of Virginia Camp refuse to stand for this.

John smiles grimly, pleased his plan is working. For a moment he thought Thomas would go with them, that there would be no fight. But as he glances around the clearing and takes in the expressions of the men, he knows that the only way this is going to end is with bloodshed.

“Why are you doing this? What are you trying to prove?” Thomas asks, his voice quiet. “That you’re _civilized_ enough to kill a tribe of peaceful villagers who’ve done nothing at all to bring harm to you?”

“They kidnapped you.” Lon says, his hands fisting at his sides. “They held you hostage.”

“They freed me.” Thomas snaps back. “They showed me it was fine to be different.”

“Just what are you saying lad?” Joshua asks, a queer note in his voice. There’s a moment where everything freezes and then Thomas stiffens, glaring at them.

“You’ve obviously made up your minds to slaughter my people no matter what I say. And after you hear my words, I have no doubts you’ll cut me down for being the godless heathen that I chose to be.” Thomas sneers, his eyes flashing. “I do women’s work. Weaving and cooking and watching the children. I like doing it. I enjoy it.” A few of the men shuffle awkwardly, staring at their feet and avoiding eye contact with the redhead.

“Thomas.” John’s voice is low and dangerous and Thomas turns to him, his face blank and closed off. A man with nothing else to lose. A man unafraid to die.

“I’ve shared a bed with another man for just over six months now. But it’s only been this past week that I’ve lain with him.” His words are meant to shock, and they do. John feels himself draw back, angry and repulsed by Thomas’ words. It’s not only unnatural, it’s a sin.

“You...what are you saying?” Lon asks, looking lost. Thomas glares at the group of men, his supposed saviours and walks closer until he’s standing in front of John.

“Go ahead. Send me to the devil. I know you want to.” Thomas says quietly and for a moment John thinks about it, lifting his gun and pulling the trigger and watching the light go out of Thomas’ eyes. “No? Then you?” He looks at Joshua who stares down at his feet, unwilling to met Thomas’ eyes. “Is anyone here man enough to do it?”

No one answers him and Thomas steps back, his expression still closed off, like he’s already dead.

“We-we were just trying to help.” Kit speaks up, his voice quiet. He peeks up at Thomas from underneath his lashes, his face red from embarrassment.

“It took me a week to realize no one was coming to find me. But I waited, I waited for three months until you sent Samoset to bring me back. And suddenly I found myself not wanting to leave. I wanted to stay with these people, my people.”

“But we’re your people.” John spoke suddenly, feeling his hold on Thomas and his men loosening.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had people before this.” Thomas sounds sad, almost apologetic. “I’ve never felt this close to anyone, not even my own family.” John narrows his eyes thoughtfully and watches Thomas.

“And what should we tell your wife?” Thomas stares impassively back, unmoved and unimpressed.

“Tell her I’m sorry. Tell her I was eaten by a wild thing. Tell her I drowned during the storm. I married for duty, never for love.” Thomas shakes his head, a half smile breaking over his face. “I never thought I’d find love.”

“...What’s his name lad?” Joshua asks awkwardly and the rest of the men wait with baited breath. As if they suddenly don’t care that Thomas is like _that_.

“Kocoum.” Thomas says after a few mutually awkward moments. “He’s Kocoum.”

“I-” Joshua stops and looks blindly to the side, to where John is standing. It feels like the world has shifted under him. He knew what he had come here to do, but now he wasn’t sure why.

“We’re sorry.” John says softly, feeling shame pour over him like an ocean wave. All at once the silence breaks and the men murmur the sentiment, looking as shamefaced as John feels.

Thomas takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and waiting. A breeze blows by, ruffling his hair and shaking the leaves in the trees. Thomas smiles and opens his eyes, taking in the subdued expressions of the Virginia Camp men.

“I know.”

XxX XxX

Thomas is silent on the walk back to the village. He’s alone, and for all that he loves being around people, he’s happy to be alone with his thoughts.

He thinks about what could have happened. What might have been. Wonders at the bravery that seems to have swept over him like a tidal wave. He felt strong when he talked to the men who had once been his people, strong as the oak trees that grew thick and tall in the forest. All he feels now is tired and angry. Angry at the men, angry at himself and angry at the spirits.

Is this all a game to them? The lives of men and mortals?

He takes a deep breath, ignoring the soft touch of wind across his shoulders. Alawa is where he’d left her, standing between two sycamore trees. She looks fragile, and Thomas feels as if he’s a waterskin that all the water has trickled out of. Would they have wasted a bullet on her, or would they have bashed in her skull with their boot heels?

He walks up to the shaman and drops to his knees, all at once exhausted. Alawa cups the back of his neck and gently pulls him forward until his forehead is resting against her torso. They stay like that for a few quiet moments until Thomas feels strong enough to walk back to the village on his own power.

“Sometimes the spirits give us more then we can handle.” Alawa says quietly. “But not always. You did well today, windchild.” Thomas smiles weakly and stands when Alawa motions him upwards. “Walk with me, and we shall decide what to tell theChief and how much of this little adventure we should keep to ourselves.” 

“Do we have to tell him anything?”

“We must learn something from this Miskwa. A calm wind can turn back a storm, and one man can turn the hearts of many.” Alawa pats his arm as they walk. “We cannot let our tribes get as close to war as they were today.”

“They won’t.” Thomas looks as fierce as any warrior, his hair shining copper in the newly risen sun, eyes flashing green fire. “I swear it.”


	9. Chapter 9

Alawa had done most of the talking, with Thomas making small comments when it seemed he needed to. He'd begged, threatened and cajoled to keep the incident between them, but Powhatan hadn't been swayed by his words, and had sent runners to find the hunting party. 

Nearly an hour had passed by the time Kocoum stomped into the hut, looking at Thomas, Alawa and Powhatan in turn, waiting for some sort of explanation for why he'd been asked to come back to the village before he was done checking his traps and snares for the day.

"Go ahead Miskwa, tell him what you told me." Powhatan said after a few moments of awkward silence. Thomas hesitated, not wanting to risk the chance of starting a war after he'd narrowly avoided genocide.

"John came today." Thomas blurted out suddenly, squeezing his eyes shut and wanting to get this over with. "John and the rest of them. They came here, they were coming to-" he couldn't make himself say the words. "I stopped them."

For a brief eternity the only noise was the soft crackle of the fire in the hearth at the back of the hut. Thomas kept his eyes squeezed shut, not wanting to see the judgment being cast upon him by the man he'd grown to, dare he say it, love.

He'd wanted to keep this silent, because the alternative, of everyone knowing, meant they would hate him. They would look at his pale skin and his red hair and see a paleface, see another white devil greedy for the sort of riches this land didn't offer. They would send him back to Virginia Camp, to be with his own kind, back to the life he didn't want any more. 

"They were coming to kill us, to take you back?" Kocoum asked softly and Thomas nodded, not trusting his own voice. The brave moved quickly, rubbing his hands over Thomas' arms and then pulling him in close to hold him.

Thomas was shaking, his entire body trembling, it was clear he was afraid of Kocoum and what he would say. What he might do with the confession of a hundred white men coming to attack his tribe and steal Thomas like cowardly dogs in the night.

Kocoum felt rage burn through him, the need to fight back, fight harder, fight meaner. He felt Alawa's cool hand on his shoulder, and the rage cooled to something he could contain. He pulled back, wanting to look upon the man he'd taken into his home and into his heart. 

Thomas looked afraid and yet resigned, as if he'd already decided on his own fate. Kocoum had a vague idea of what Thomas must be thinking, probably already fearing the reactions of the village, and there was no doubt on any one's mind that he was blaming himself for the actions of the people who had once been his own.

"Are you alright?" Kocoum asked, and from the way Thomas' eyes flew open, that was not the question he'd been expecting.

"I-yes. I'm fine."

"What did they do?"

"They just talked. We talked. I...I told them I wouldn't go back, that they'd have to kill me to get to the village." Kocoum breathed out a sigh and pulled Thomas back into a tight hug, looking over his head to stare at Powhatan, silently asking what they were doing. 

The actions of the white men could have easily been declared war, and the entire village would have been ready at a moments notice to march on the camp, not to mention the surrounding tribes. If the white men were willing to destroy one village, what reason would they have to stop at others?

It was Alawa who spoke, her voice quiet and yet hard as tempered bone. "The spirits have chosen Miskwa to speak for them. He speaks wisely for one so young. It's been years since the spirits have spoken to me as they do for him, and I choose to listen to what he has to say."

Powhatan nodded once, face solemn. That was it then, they would wait for Thomas to make the decision, and whatever he decided, they would stand behind him.

XxX XxX

For all the faith that they'd put in him, Thomas had no idea what to say. The spirits, for all their meddling, had chosen to stay silent when Thomas needed them the most. Despite all the words that had been said about being on Thomas' side, he still carried doubts about where their loyalties lay.

Why would they put themselves in danger just to keep him around. He wasn't anything special. He was barely average. 

He knew Kocoum was worried about him, and while he wanted to do nothing more then tell the brave that he was alright, that he knew every member of the village wanted him here and didn't think of him as just another white demon. There was still a small part of him that whispered how useless he was. Whispered that he was a scrawny, pale idiot and Kocoum was a fool to think Thomas was worth all this trouble.

So he stayed silent, drawing into himself for hours and making excuses for why he couldn't join the weaving circle, or tell the children stories of the place he'd come from, with the tall stone buildings pressed together so tightly you could barely squeeze in between them.

Kocoum let him be for the first few hours, understanding that Thomas needed space to make decisions for himself without anyone pressuring him. He ignored the way wind pressed and shoved at him with every step, trying to turn him back around, trying to make him go to Thomas and talk.

Sometimes, a person just needed to be on their own for a few hours.

But as the day drew to a close and Thomas was still making himself scarce, Kocoum knew something needed to be done to show the man that the village was his new home, his new family. They were his, and they weren't about to let him go just because the idiots who'd had him first didn't know how to share.

So he did what anyone would have done in his position. He lit the fire in the center of the village, the one that meant a meeting was being held, a meeting that would involve every member of the village.

It took barely a half hour for the last of the stragglers to gather round the fire. Kocoum had already gathered Thomas from their hut and herded him back to the fire, keeping their hands gently clasped together so Thomas would know that he had support without feeling caged.

Thomas stood at his side, staring at the ground and feeling horrible. He'd told John that he'd rather die then go back, but looking at the familiar faces, he knew that he had to go. If he stayed they'd come back and destroy everything. At least if he left he'd know they were safe.

It was the only explanation for why the village was meeting like this. They'd come to say their goodbyes. Why else would they be here, looking at him with their open trusting faces, believing he'd do the right thing to save them all.

He took a breath, ready to speak and say his goodbyes. Thank them for the time he'd spent here, thank them for everything. Instead Kocoum's grip on his fingers tightened to the point of pain and Thomas fell silent with a startled squeak.

"This morning the white men came to the village." Kocoum's strong voice poured over the crowd and all at once Thomas was afraid again. They'd kill him, string him up and hang him like they did to criminals and deviants back home. "They came for him." Kocoum held up their conjoined hands and Thomas felt like he was about to be ill. There was a reason he'd wanted to keep his quiet.

"Why?" Ahanu stepped forward, flicking his hair over his shoulder with a sharp twist of his head before starring Thomas down. "Why are we only hearing about this now?"

"It was decided by Alawa that Thomas be the one to make the decision of what we do now. His silence tells me he's making the wrong decisions." Kocoum turned to glance at Thomas, and the redhead couldn't meet his eyes. How could Kocoum have known what he was thinking of doing? How could anyone? "His silence tells me, tells us all, that he intends to go back, to save us from the white men." 

"Save _us_ from the white men?" Ahanu half snarled, his hands clenching into fists. Hassan laid a hand on Ahanu's arm and looked up at Thomas, a look of bewilderment on his face. As if he couldn't understand how Thomas could do this to him, to them.

"You don't understand." Thomas yelled suddenly, unable to keep his feelings buried any longer. "They're ruthless. They'll kill everything, everyone in the village. I couldn't stand it, I'd never be able to forgive myself if anything happened to you because of me. Because I could have done something to stop it."

"So that's it?" Awenita asked, hands on her hips, fierce anger burning in her eyes. "You give up everything you have here and go back to those monsters?"

"I don't have a choice." Thomas muttered, wondering why they weren't running him out of the village. They should be glad to see him go.

"Miskwa." Nakoma stepped up, Pocahontas by her side. "You always have a choice."

"But-"

"Stop thinking like one of them." Pocahontas said after a few moments. "You are one of us. You've been a member of this tribe since the day Kocoum carried you into the village like a war bride, and no matter the decision you make today you will always be a member of this tribe. You said it yourself; you will always be a man of two worlds." 

"So that settles it." Ahanu's voice was as hard as steel and just as lethal. "We go to war." 

"NO!" Thomas snarled suddenly, all the pity he'd been feeling for himself evaporating. "There will be NO WAR." He shouted, only vaguely aware of the entire village staring at him like he'd grown another head. He tightened his grip on Kocoum's hand, pleased to feel the brave squeeze back. "I didn't turn back the pale-faces at the edge of the village so you could fight them now."

"I will kill every pale demon I can get my hands on to keep you safe, Miskwa." Ahanu spoke again, only this time the sentiment was echoed by every warrior in the village, Kocoum included.

Thomas looked around the village, at the anger and hatred brewing in the hearts of these gentle souls. Saw their bravery, the way they fought, and the way they died. Watched as two peoples fought a war neither side could win, and all for naught. He looked at the braves and the women who made up his weaving circle and the children that followed him around and laughed at his pronunciations of certain words.

"NO!" Lightning slashed down from the sky to strike at the trees behind Thomas and the thunder that followed was so loud it made the very ground tremble. "There will be no war, no fighting. I forbid it." 

"Then tell us." Alawa stepped forward, pleased that her protege had just shown such power over the elements. The spirits truly had great things planned for this boy. "Show us the way." 

Thomas took a breath, fighting the urge to admit that he had no idea what he was doing. He had to do this, he had to find a way to make peace between both peoples or there would always be this between them, the possibility of war.

"There will be no fighting." Thomas repeated. "So we need to make peace." 

Alawa smiled and in a move that stole the very breath from Thomas' lungs, she handed her staff to Thomas. The one carved from an Mountain Ash tree that had been struck by lightening ten years before. The one that signified her status in the tribe as shaman. 

He reached out and took it with trembling fingers, feeling a surge of power through his entire body. He drew in a careful breath and let it out, his eyes drifted shut and he felt himself connect to everything. This was everything he'd never known he wanted.

"We must move forward, not as two separate peoples, but as one tribe." Thomas spoke after a few quiet moments of readjusting his world view. "If there is anyone who wishes to speak against this course of action, speak now." The tribe stayed silent and Thomas wondered how he ever could have doubted their actions. There were his people, they'd been his people since before he'd ever imagined what the new world would look like. And they would always be his people.

All that was left now was to meet with John Smith and the rest of the men that made up Virginia Camp. If there was to be any future with this land and its peoples, peace _had_ to be made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so, I'd just like to apologize for the fact that it took me almost two months to get this chapter written.
> 
> Real life has been fic blocking me like you wouldn't believe, and it's only because my boss was an angel and gave me the day off that I managed to finish this chapter.
> 
> Many thanks to Whogeek for helping me with the beta.
> 
> So, thank you for being patient with me, and know that as long as it might take me to add chapters on, I won't be done with this fic until the very last chapter is posted.
> 
> I love you all. *suggles you*


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys. 
> 
> So, I just wanted to say, I'm so sorry for my absence. Life has somewhat turned upside down for me in the past few years, both in bad and good ways. For a long time there I had writers block and no idea, or real desire to work on this story. And finally, finally, I got inspiration again. 
> 
> Thank you so much to those who've come back to this time and time again, who've left me kind words in reviews, and to those who have left me kudos. Every little bit helps, makes me feel loved and keeps my mind coming back to these lovely characters. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Alawa has seen Thomas grow from the terrified pale-face he was when Kocoum dragged him into the village, into the strong, confidant man he'd become in only six short months. He's on the road to becoming a shaman, though he still has a lot to learn. There are rites he must pass, rites that must be taken to prove his worthiness to the tribe, and to the spirits. Rites, Alawa thinks, that should have taken place when he'd been given his first name, a name suited for boyhood.

There is almost no time for any of it, not with the coming storm. But Alawa isn't about to send Miskwa out into the world with only instincts and nothing else. He would survive, because their Miskwa is nothing if not a survivor, but it would take a heavy toll on him, one Alawa already sees. He stands straighter, taller these days, and yet there is a hunch to his shoulders, as if he carries the weight of the world on them. It worries the shaman, what the spirits would ask of Thomas, and yet she knows that they would not ask more from the young man than he could handle. She shakes her head with a sigh, amending her thoughts. He doesn't carry the weight of a single world on his shoulders, but the weight of two.

The air holds a heaviness to it, as it does when a great storm builds. The kind with lashing rain and string winds, the kind that destroys villages with flash floods and mudslides and lightening strikes that burn and eat everything in its way. It makes her shiver, pulling the wrap around her shoulders a little tighter to ward off the chill that gets harder and harder to fight off as the years pass. The pale-faces are like fire, she thinks. Fire does not care what's in front of it, does not care that it leaves only death and destruction in its wake. It only eats, consumes, destroys.

The shaman watches the flames that lick into the air and feels fear for Thomas. Fear for what he must face, for what he must do, for what he must become. And yet there is a bittersweet relief that she won't have to face this storm, for she knows she wouldn't survive it.

There is a cave half a days walk from the village where Alawa took her own iniation rights into both shaman and womanhood. It was where she learned to commune and listen to the spirits and the earth. She isn't worried about Thomas, not when he listens, speaks to the spirits as if he were born with one ear on the other world. At this point, these rites are more of a formality, to ensure Thomas will always have a place here, to ensure there will never be dark voices who wish his harm. He will he great, Alawa can already see it in him, but there are so many roads he must first travel.

Her hand strays up to the betrothal necklace she'd been given when she was younger. Still soft and sweet and in love, believing that there was nothing bad in the world, nothing that could hurt her. And yet, her betrothed had been taken from her, ripped from this world at the jaws of the bear his hunting party had tracked through the woods.

It was this death that had sent her on a journey to become a shaman, to search for answers on why the spirits has allowed for such a thing to happen to such a good, strong man. For many years she'd asked, searched, pleaded for answers. And finally, when she could no longer remember the face of her betrothed, she realized why he'd been taken from her. For if she had married him, her handsome, strong Wematin, they would have had a beautiful family together, and she would never have become the shaman her people had needed. The spirits weren't always kind in their actions, but they new best, new what needed to be done.

Alana traces over the necklace again, then let's her fingers drop. She hasn't talked to Thomas yet about the ceremony, about what will happen, what is to be expected of him, and what he'll have to go through. They can't afford to take the time needed for a traditional ceremony, and Alawa hopes the spirits forgive them for their brashness, but with this storm looming over their heads, anything more than a week cannot be afforded. A week, and then the storm will be upon them. All of them.

XxX XxX

Thomas sits on the ground across from Alawa, the fire crackling merrily between them. "Nakoma said you wanted to speak with me." His voice is quiet and Alawa nods, giving him a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. This test is going to be hard on the young man, but it's meant to test him, to measure him worthy of his place.

"I do. Yes." She nods. "The spirits have given me both a quest, and a test for you to complete. Both are needed to become a full member of this tribe, to become accepted as both a man, and a shaman. To become that you are meant to be." Thomas nods, looking nervous, like he already knows what Alawa is asking of him, but she smiles at him. Warmer and kinder. "I won't lie to you, Miskwa. This isn't going to be easy. But the best things never are."

Thomas gives her a little smile and his eyes dart down to his hands. For all that he thinks himself unworthy, he is brave and true. He will fight to the very end, die defending that which he knows is right. And that, Alawa thinks, is what makes him more worthy than any she's known in her lifetime. He won't flinch away from what is right just because it's hard work.

"When does this quest need to be fulfilled?" Thomas asks, as if the details don't matter. But Alawa can see the tenseness of his shoulders, knows he's scared of what's coming. It's another weight to place on those narrow shoulders, but she knows he can take it.

"We leave tomorrow at first light." Thomas nods and gets to his feet, brushing at his trousers.

"Then I will see you tomorrow. " His voice is far calmer than anything he feels and Alawa nods, watching him leave. He feels as if he's dreaming as he moves through the village. The air warm and teasing as it brushes over his bare arms, tugging playfully at his braid. It still seems strange, to feel the touch of a spirit, to know it favours him when he'd been raised to believe in one God, in cold, ever watching saints, in colder still demands of tithe and piouty and unquestioning obedience. It's a relief to have this instead, to know he can have this.

Whatever is asked of him tomorrow, he will do.

XxX XxX

Kocoum comes home with a fat ptarmigan in one hand and two rabbits in the other. He trades them to Thomas for a kiss, pleased when Thomas tips his fave up for it, even though his cheeks still flush a red nearly as rich as his hair.

"How was your day?" Kocoum asks, taking a seat in front of the cooking fire, Thomas settling down beside him as he starts to dress the ptarmigan, sliding it on a spit for Kocoum to look after while he takes care of the rabbits.

"It was good. Tomorrow I'm leaving with Alawa. She says I have a quest, to prove myself." Kocoum grunts to show he's heard Thomas' words, turning the spit to ensure the ptarmigan cooks evenly. "I'm scared."

"Good. Fear will keep you sharp." Kocoum reaches out, smoothing a hand down Thomas' perpetually messy braid. Wind likes it braided about as much as Kocoum does, on this he and the spirit are of one mind. "Fear will keep you strong. It will keep you alive." Thomas relaxes under his touch, but he never takes his eyes off his work.

"What was it like?" Kocoum has never been the best with words, but he'll do his best, if only to attempt to ease Thomas' fears.

"It was good. And it was bad. I saw many things, some that still come to haunt me when I'm alone. But it made me stronger, made me the man I am."

Thomas still feels unsure, but Kocoum's words help to calm him. "Thank you." Kocoum nods and leans over to tip up Thomas' chin, stealing a kiss. He's gentle at first. Soft and sweet as a new dawn, though his kisses turn demanding, taking everything Thomas gives him, as if Thomas' mouth is something he's owed.

He wants to forget the cooking spit, wrap Thomas up in his arms and take him to their bed. Make him forget his worries and fears, make him forget everything but the feel of hands on his skin before the rites change him.

Instead, Kocoum stays where he is, trading slow lazy kisses with Thomas while he keeps one eye on the ptarmigan. He will have his night with Thomas, and when his Miskwa returns, Kocoum can only pray that Thomas will remember him, remember what they have. And he vows, if Thomas remembers him, if Thomas still wants him, than he will stand beside Thomas for eternity. As a husband should.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thank you so much for your love. It's awesome and now that I have my computer back from thw big motherboard in the sky, I'll be fiddling around with more chapters.

Thomas wakes early. He's not entirely sure what caused him to go from sleep to wakefulness so quickly, but now that he's awake, there's no sense laying in bed when he should be up, getting things ready for whatever mysterious rites he's off to take part in. He jams a careful elbow into Kocoum's ribs to loosen the other man's grip. Though rather than freeing him, Kocoum's grip goes from passive to searching.

"Don't go." Kocoum murmurs and Thomas can feel his skin heating up.

"I have to get ready." He can already feel his resolve weakening as Kocoum's hands slide over his body, waking him up in am entirely different way.

"Not yet." Kocoum murmurs and Thomas gives a low moan when those clever fingers find what they're looking for. He can't help but arch into the touch, hips following Kocoum's lazy touch. Kocoum kisses over Thomas' neck, shoulders, and Thomas turns his head, searching for Kocoum's mouth. A mouth that is eagerly given. Kocoum might not be the best with words, but he makes up for his quiet manor in other ways.

He works Thomas up in lazy pulls of his hand that tease at the same time as they pleasure. Thomas' skin is warm under his touch, and this Kocoum knows, this is the memory that will stay with him. No matter what comes next.

XxX XxX

Alawa meets Thomas at the border of the village, Kitchi stands at her side, laden down with a pack and several baskets filled with food and furs. It makes Thomas hesitate. He'd assumed they'd be gone for a day, maybe two, but from the packs Kitchi carries, he knows hell be gone a lot longer. Suddenly, Kocoum's actions this morning make a lot more sense.

Thomas takes a breath, straightens his shoulders, and walks towards Alawa and Kitchi. He will do this. He has to do this. This isn't about him anymore. It's not about the tribe, or the men from Jamestown. It's about all of them. Wind whispers agreement in his ears, slithering a touch down his spine in a way that makes Thomas think of Kocoum. It's that thought that helps to strengthen his resolve.

"I'm ready." Thomas says and Alawa smiles at him. He reaches out, intending to take a basket from Kitchi, but the brave shakes his head.

"You already have enough to carry. These are for me."

"I don't have anything to carry." Thomas argues and Kitchi smiles at him.

"You carry the weight if two worlds on your shoulders. These, I can carry for you."

"When did you get so wise?" Alawa teases, puffing on her pipe. Kitchi blushes and Thomas laughs and moves to pat him on the shoulder.

"Just because you can carry all of these things by yourself doesn't mean you should have to." He takes a basket from Kitchi. "If it's one thing I've learned from living here, it's that you're never alone."

"Well when you put it that way." Kitchi sighs and passes Thomas one of the lighter baskets. Thomas grins at him and hitches it up into his arms.

"Let's be off." Alawa says, tapping her staff. Thomas had given it back to her, giving the excuse that he wasn't ready to wield such a powerful tool. She gets a nod from both men and Thomas takes a moment to look back at the village. It's strange how final this feels, as if this is going to be the last time he'll see it. Thomas turns to follow Kitchi and Alawa. He holds Kocoum's face in his mind, in his heart. And as nice as it would be to have the man see him off, it would make this entire thing harder than it needs to be.

They walk until mid day. Kitchi tries to make conversation, but Thomas is too caught up in his own thoughts to be any sort of good company, so after an hour of one sided conversation, Kitchi falls silent, leaving each member of their tiny company with their own thoughts.

At midday, they stop beside a spring that bubbles up from the ground. The water tastes crisp, clean, like nothing Thomas has ever partaken of, and of he had to place a name to it, he would pick the feeling of the air after a good clean frost, when the very world felt clean. That, and freedom. Privately, he thinks it tastes the way Kocoum makes him feel, and that makes him flush, and it earns him a little smile from Alawa, as if she can see his mind.

Thomas doesn't scowl at her, but it's a near thing. His thoughts are his own. He buries himself with eating, and after filling their water skins and drinking their fill, they're on their way again.

The small group arrives at the caves in the evening. The sun sits low in the sky and they'll only have another few hours to gather wood and set up camp. Alawa leads the two men into the mouth of the cave that looms in front of them and Thomas amends his thoughts. There's a small alcove already set up with sleeping platforms and a circle of stones that will hold a cooking fire. Wood is stacked beside the rock circle and Thomas gives Alawa a curious look.

"You planned this." It's not a question, bit it's not an accusation either, just a statement. Alawa nods and Thomas finds himself flushing. Of course she planned this. It's not as if she woke up one morning and decided to hold initiation rites. He's always been told to think before he speaks, and it's one of the reasons he stays quiet so much. It's easier than being called an imbecile.

Kitchi sets his basket down and Thomas follows suit, claiming a platform for himself and unrolling a set of sleeping furs. He takes a moment to wish Kocoum was here, but Thomas is alone right now, amd he won't let himself keep up the childish mannerisms of wishing on starrs, of waiting for others to solve his problems. He's in the position right now of being able to affect people for the better. He knows this isn't going to be easy, but wishing for Kocoum to come take him back to the village isn't going to help anyone. Least of all him. All its doing is making him question his reasons for being here, and that is not something Thomas wants to do, on any level. So he does what he's good at and turns his mind off of Kocoum.

Kitchi brings down a rabbit for the evening meal, and they roast it over the fire, eating it with fresh apples and bannock. The evening meal is filling and once Thomas eats he can feel the exhaustion from the day settling in. Tomorrow is going to be one of the most important days of his life. No one will tell him what's going to happen, but Thomas feels the truth of it in his bones. He needs his sleep, and when he lays down on his furs, he expects to toss and then from worry and an over active mind. Instead he's asleep in minutes, and while he dreams, he doesn't remember any of them upon waking instead he remembers what the dreams made him feel. Content and happy. It's that he holds onto while he eats breakfast and does his best not to think about what's going to come next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in my endless research I came across the rites of passage for the Algonquin tribes and they're not all that pleasant. I'll expand more on that knowledge in the next chapter. Until then, thank you for the reviews, they make me want to write a lot faster. And thank you for the love!

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all. Just wanted to give out complete and total permission if you want to translate this work into another language or if you want to draw any sort of fan work.


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